Patrem et Filium - Father and Son
by Sugar McGundy
Summary: KID-FIC This is the fourth story in my In Loco Parentis series. Gibbs and Tony are settling into their very challenging new life together. As Gibbs struggles with the decision to leave NCIS, Tony has his heart set on getting a service dog. Please be aware that this is very AU. Some familiar characters appear in unfamiliar roles – such is the power of an AU fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is the fourth story in my In Loco Parentis series. Please be aware that this is a Tony kidfic and, consequently, it is very AU. Some familiar characters appear in unfamiliar roles – such is the power of an AU fic. If this is not your "cup of tea" please go no further and let's part as friends. It makes no sense to ignore this warning and criticize me later.

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter One**

"Dad…Dad…he's fine," Gibbs repeated. "Just a bump on his head and-"

Jack's raised voice travelled down the phone line, bringing his son's explanation to an abrupt halt. Beside him, securely fastened into his standing frame, Tony was almost vibrating with excitement.

"Can I tell him, Gibbs? Can I tell Grandpa Jack?" Tony asked for the third time in as many minutes as he reached for the phone in his foster father's hand.

Gibbs held up a finger to quiet him so he could continue to calm his father's concerns.

"He had new scans today and…well of course at the hospital, Dad" he huffed in frustration. "Dad, relax. We were gonna call you tonight."

Gibbs pulled the handset from his ear and rolled his eyes dramatically at Tony. The boy bit back a cheeky grin as Jack's rapid-fire questions continued without pause.

"Didn't tell ya 'cause I wanted to wait for the results," Gibbs defended. "Nope…not even a mild concussion. The kid's got a hard head…left a sizeable dent in my floor though," the former Marine quipped with a wink at Tony.

"You don't need to come, Dad, he's fine," Gibbs said. "Well, of course you're welcome but-"

Unable to finish a sentence without being interrupted, the former Gunny knew there was only one way to ease his father's concerns and he handed the phone to Tony. The boy chewed his lower lip at the sound of the older man's gruff voice but Gibbs placed his hand on Tony's shoulder and nodded encouragingly.

"Grandpa Jack?" Tony started tentatively. "It's me, Tony…"

Jack's sharp tone immediately shifted to one of gentle concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," Tony replied.

"I'm _really_ fine," he smiled.

" _Really, really_ fine," the boy giggled.

"Uh-huh…uh-huh…my school work? It's okay," the kid said with a casual one-shouldered shrug. "But guess what, Grandpa Jack? Gibbs is getting me a dog! A real dog of my very own! Isn't that great? I can't wait to see him…or her…I don't mind if he's a girl dog. I guess that'd be okay, too."

Gibbs couldn't decide what he liked most - his kid's over the top excitement or the fact that, now it was Jackson who was battling to get a word in.

"And he's the smartest dog in the world, Grandpa Jack," Tony bragged shamelessly. "He's an assistance dog. Do you know what that is? I'll tell you. An assistance dog is trained to aid or assist an individual with special needs. Like me, Grandpa Jack, I have special needs now."

Gibbs grinned as Tony went on to recite the brochure he'd memorised from cover to cover. As the kid settled in for his customary long phone conversation with Jack, Gibbs ruffled the blonde head and walked to the kitchen. With a sigh that came all the way from his boots, he scrubbed his face with one hand, feeling the roughness of his unshaven jaw as he leaned wearily against the counter. He closed his eyes and immediately regretted doing so as memories of finding Tony seizing on his bedroom floor assailed him.

Doctor McNally had assured Gibbs that the boy was fine other than a sizeable lump on the back of his head but, at the Gunny's insistence, they had spent the better part of the morning at the hospital undergoing precautionary scans that had proved the doctor's original diagnosis. Tony was fine but Gibbs had added another scenario to an ever growing list of nightmares that plagued his sleep with annoying frequency.

With their routine trashed for the day, Gibbs had agreed to take advantage of the unusually warm weather and take the boy to the park. A grin teased his lips as he realised that spending time with Tony at the park and watching him enjoy being a kid was now one of his favourite things to do.

He flicked his watchful eyes to the living room where Tony was still speaking on the phone to Jack. He took a moment to marvel at the closeness of the bond between his father and the boy – the relationship was good for them both. Since learning that he may soon acquire an assistance dog, the kid's spirits had soared and his green eyes shone with excitement. Gibbs had left the details to Ducky and to the DiNozzo family attorney, Alistair Chambers, and, although it had only been one day, Tony was more excited and animated than Gibbs had ever seen him.

Opening the pantry, the former Marine grabbed the small cooler and quickly packed some Keto snacks and a drink for Tony, a small thermos of very strong coffee for himself and, of course, a bag of various kinds of bread to feed the ducks at the park.

"Wrap it up, Sport," he said as he walked back into the living room. "We've gotta go."

"Oh…Grandpa Jack, I have to go," Tony said into the phone. "Gibbs is taking me to the park. Abby needs me to continue my vital research on the preferred eating habits of the anas platyrhynchos. Do you know what that is, Grandpa Jack? It's the scientific name for ducks. Abby says my experiments are crucial to…they're crucial to…I can't really remember what they're crucial to but it's very important work. I'll call you soon, okay? Here's Gibbs again…bye Grandpa Jack."

Tony handed the phone back to Gibbs and quickly wheeled his standing frame up the hall toward his bedroom.

"Hey, Fangio! Slow it down," Gibbs called after him. "Park's not going anywhere. We got plenty of time."

Gibbs held the phone to his ear and listened to his father's low, raspy chuckle.

"Something funny, Dad?"

"Well that depends, Son," Jack replied. "Is that the same boy you were so concerned about just two days ago? The one you said seemed too quiet?"

Gibbs grinned and shrugged one shoulder.

"Yep."

"You ever find out what was troubling the boy?"

"Kid got it into his head that if he caused me any trouble, I'd send him away," Gibbs replied ruefully.

"What in tarnation gave him that idea?" Jack exclaimed.

"Was a misunderstanding. It's sorted now."

"I guess with everything the boy's been through these past few months, we should expect him to feel a little insecure from time to time."

"Now you're starting to sound like Ducky," Gibbs teased.

"Tell you one thing, Son," Jack chortled. "The prospect of a service dog's got the boy happy as a lark."

"It's all he talks about," Gibbs told him. "That and the damn ducks."

Right on cue, Tony manoeuvred his standing frame back into the hallway.

"Gibbs, don't forget to pack some bread," he called. "I promised Abby I'd continue my research."

"Roger that," the former Gunny replied.

"Both kinds, Gibbs, white and brown."

"Got both kinds," Gibbs confirmed, watching as Tony nodded his approval and disappeared back into his room.

"I see what you mean," Jack chuckled again and then sobered. "Is he really helping Abby with a project?"

"According to Abby, she's helping to stimulate his inquisitive mind."

"Maybe...but it sure is good to hear him so happy. You're doing great with him, Son."

"Thanks, Dad. Will we see you at Ducky's for Thanksgiving?"

"You can count on it. You think I'd miss our first Thanksgiving with Tony?" Jackson replied.

Before Gibbs could respond, Tony appeared in the hallway again, this time with a frustrated look on his face.

"Gibbs?" he said indicating the safety straps on the standing frame. "I can't get these buckles undone."

"Be right there, Sport. Dad, I gotta go. We'll call you tomorrow."

Gibbs moved swiftly up the hallway and guided the boy back into his room where he helped Tony transfer from the frame to his wheelchair. Grabbing Tony's ball cap, he placed it on the blonde head, purposely dragging the visor to cover the boy's eyes and eliciting a giggle. Despite the warm day, Gibbs rifled Tony's dresser for a light sweater and held up a light blue Burberry cardigan for approval. The boy wrinkle his nose and shook his head, smiling sadly at his foster father's lack of fashion sense and prompting Gibbs to swap it for a navy Hugo Boss button down that received the nod of assent.

"Bike or chair?" Gibbs asked, guiding the wheelchair down the hall.

"Bike please!" Tony answered enthusiastically.

Gibbs' eyes grew dim with recall. On previous bike rides to the park, the Gunny would carefully watch Tony's image reflected in the bike's rear view mirror and note how the boy would turn his face toward the sun and grin from ear to ear. The former Marine had no doubt Tony was remembering a time when he could ride his own bike and the memory tugged at his heart.

"Bike it is," Gibbs said, nodding his head toward the small cooler. "DiNozzo, grab your gear."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Arthur Fisher could feel the onset of overwhelming grief even before he located his son's final resting place. He stopped for a moment and took several deep breaths trying desperately to hold on to his composure. Forcing himself onward, he checked the cemetery's directory marker with the plot number hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper clenched tightly in his hand and he confirmed he was close.

His eyes scanned the names on the simple plaques and markers as he continued to move down the narrow pathway. He stopped suddenly, a half-choked sob escaping before he caught himself. For a long moment he stared at his son's name inscribed upon the small marble marker.

 _Aaron Arthur Fisher_

Feeling his composure slipping, he took several shaky steps before falling to his knees beside the grave.

"No, no, no, no…"

His head dropped into his hands and his shoulders heaved convulsively as he wept inconsolably. For the first time since this nightmare began, he grieved openly, losing all sense of time as he mourned the insurmountable loss of his only child. Aaron was three when his mother was killed in a traffic accident and, for the next twenty-four years, his son had been Fisher's sole reason for living. His trembling hand moved to the pocket of his light windbreaker and he withdrew a small American flag, placing it by the headstone.

"I'm sorry, Son," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

False allegations and manufactured evidence had conspired to end his son's promising Navy career and a blatantly corrupt justice system had sentenced Aaron to ten years in prison. Certain of his son's innocence, Fisher's fight for justice became his compulsion; his obsession. He'd sold his modest apartment to fund the cost of over-priced attorneys and when the final appeal was denied, he was left penniless and broken. Crushed by overwhelming guilt and failure, something shattered deep inside him and, though he remembers little, he woke up in a mental health facility; his stability and grip on reality forever lost. The next two years were a vague memory of psychiatrists and drab grey walls in an overcrowded facility.

Fisher recalled little of the day hospital staff told him that Aaron had been murdered in a prison exercise yard. Powerful medications administered over many months suppressed all emotion and left him so devoid of feeling that his reaction was listless and detached. His psychiatrist deemed it inadvisable for him to attend the funeral and with no other known family members, Aaron received a pauper's burial.

Several years later, Fisher's release to a halfway house had more to do with government cutbacks than an improvement in his condition and an overworked and underpaid staff continued to administer his medication but rarely ensured he took it. He began to flush his meds down the toilet and, as the drugs slowly left his system, his beleaguered mind began to remember the circumstances that led him to this point. Two days ago, he slipped out the door of the halfway house, vowing never to return.

Looking around at the other headstones in the overgrown, unkempt cemetery, Fisher felt the fury and indignation ignite deep in his soul. This wasn't right - Aaron had served his country; he'd been an ensign in the United States Navy and he deserved a funeral with full military honours and a dignified resting place - not an insignificant plaque among other modest graves. But the military to which Aaron had pledged his life and served with distinction, had turned its back on him, casting him aside with a dishonourable discharge and forever tarnishing his name with lies, corruption and deceit. His outrage bubbled and blistered in his gut; his fury transforming into a powerful need for revenge.

"They'll pay for this, Aaron," he vowed. "They'll all pay for this."

His hands fisted in rage as his mind projected the faces of the people responsible for his son's wrongful conviction and subsequent death. Images including the judge, the jury foreman, the JAG prosecutor and the inept defence attorney flashed fleetingly through his mind before stopping on the face of man who had played a major role in his son's demise – the imperturbable face and the silver-hair of NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

 **NCIS—NCIS—NCIS—NCIS—NCIS-NCIS**

After completing three laps of the cycle track at the park, Gibbs slowed the bike to a stop and carried the boy to the face-to-face glider swing where they opened the cooler and had their refreshments.

As was often the case, the conversation was very one-sided and Gibbs let Tony yabba on enthusiastically about a homework project his new tutor, Cassie Yates, had assigned him. In order to get to know her newest pupil a little better, Cassie had asked him to write an essay about himself and something exciting in his life. Of course, Tony chose to write about getting a service dog. Nodding in all the right places, Gibbs revelled in the spark of excitement in the kid's big green eyes as he spoke animatedly of how he imagined his life would be with an assistance dog.

By the former Marine's count, in the short time they'd been sitting in the swing, Tony had experienced two brief absence seizures which weren't as obvious or as severe as grand mal seizures but still worrying. There was no convulsing; no stiffening of the muscles or loss of consciousness, just a brief lapse of awareness that even the boy hadn't noticed. The agent knew it was still early days as far as Tony's Ketogenic Diet was concerned; the grand mal seizure the boy experienced recently was one of the worst he'd had but Gibbs desperately hoped that they were on the right path.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked shyly.

The boy's sudden change of mood was worrying and Gibbs gave the kid his full attention.

"Tony."

"Did you mean it when you said I could talk to you about my Mom and Dad?" the boy asked in a quiet voice.

Gibbs nodded. "Gave you my word."

Squaring his slim shoulders the boy looked his foster father in the eyes.

"Well...do you think we could go to the cemetery next week?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutely," Gibbs replied. "You wanna take 'em some flowers for Thanksgiving?"

"Um…kinda," Tony said, dropping his eyes for a moment. "And…for my Mom's birthday."

Gibbs felt his stomach lurch and he cursed silently. He'd meant to record the birthdates of Tony's parents in his pocket calendar but with everything else going on in his life, he had overlooked it.

Reaching out, he gently squeezed the nape of the boy's neck.

"I'm sorry, Sport. I completely forgot. We can go anytime you want."

"That's okay, Gibbs," Tony smiled bravely. "We haven't missed it yet. We still have a few days."

Another absence seizure stalled the conversation for a moment before Tony continued.

"I think my Mom would be happy that I'm getting a dog," he said. "She loved dogs, too, Gibbs…just like I do. But my Dad wouldn't let us have one until I was old enough to look after it."

Tony's face contorted and his eye shone brightly as a thought occurred.

"Hey, that's kinda funny, Gibbs," he grinned mischievously.

"What's funny?"

"My Dad thought I was too young to look after a dog and now I'm getting a dog to look after me," he laughed.

The Gunny smiled in return. The resilience of this small boy never ceased to amaze him.

After finishing their snack, they stayed in the playground for a short time, making use of the swing and monkey bars. Gibbs noted that Tony's upper body strength had improved since he'd begun his physiotherapy with Ziva and using his wheelchair. Scooping the boy into his arms, he headed for their favourite park bench by the pond and, judging by the enthusiastic greeting, the ducks were very pleased to see that Tony had remembered to bring the bread.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

As the bicycle turned the corner into their street, the silence from the back seat was deafening and Gibbs hastily checked Tony's reflection in the mirror. The deep frown on the boy's face was a rarity.

"You okay, Sport?"

Tony sighed loudly.

"I just don't understand it, Gibbs," he said shaking his head. "All my research until now showed that white ducks preferred white bread and brown ducks preferred brown bread."

"Ducks can be fickle," Gibbs said dryly.

"Abby's not gonna like this, Gibbs. I think she was using my data for some sort of- Gibbs look!" Tony exclaimed, pointing to the large moving van parked in the driveway of their neighbour's house.

Gibbs' elderly neighbour, Winifred Kennelly and her late husband Sam had been living in their home for thirty years by the time the Gibbs family moved next door. Mrs K, as Gibbs fondly referred to her, had recently suffered a fall and broken her pelvis and the Gunny had been collecting her mail and mowing the lawn in her absence. They watched the removalists wheel a refrigerator into the van when Gibbs turned at the sound of his name.

"Jethro, I was hoping we'd see you," Mrs Kennelly's daughter, Marcie, smiled fondly as she rounded the small fence to place a kiss on his cheek. "It's been a while. Still as handsome as ever, I see."

"You look good, Marcie," Gibbs replied with a grin. He turned to face his young passenger. "This is-"

"You must be Tony!" the woman smiled. "I'm Marcie. I used to live next door many years ago. My Mom was right…you are adorable!"

A blush coloured the boy's cheeks as he replied softly.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"Your Mom sold the house?" Gibbs asked.

"She's coming to live with me," Marcie replied. "She's inside. Come on in...she could use the company."

"We'll stow the bike and be right there."

Leaving the bike in the garage, Gibbs transferred Tony to his wheelchair, grabbed Mrs K's mail and headed next door where they found Mrs Kennelly sitting in the near-empty living room and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Jethro!" she exclaimed opening her arms. "I was afraid we'd miss seeing you."

"Not a chance," Gibbs replied, stepping into her embrace.

"I never thought I'd live to see this day," she replied tearfully. "This was Sam and my honeymoon home. Did you know that?"

"Yes, Ma'am," the Gunny replied.

"Of course you did," she smiled sadly. "It's hard to say goodbye but I found a good buyer and I'll have a good life with Marcie and my grandchildren."

Gibbs leaned forward, pulling the fragile lady into another hug and whispering in her ear.

"I know you will."

Dabbing at her eyes again, Mrs Kennelly looked around the room, spying Tony sitting quietly on the other side of the room.

"There he is," she said affectionately. "There's my knight in shining armour. Come over here, child, and let me look at you."

Feeling the heat of another blush, Tony hesitated before wheeling his chair close enough for the elderly lady to reach out and pinch his cheeks.

"I don't think I've had the chance to thank you properly. You know, the doctors told me that I could have died if you hadn't found me. Thank you, Tony, thank you for saving my life."

"I...I didn't really do anything, Ma'am," Tony said quietly as he rubbed his cheeks surreptitiously. "Grandpa Jack got the door open and called 911."

"And none of that would have happened if you hadn't heard me crying and told your Grandpa," Mrs Kennelly told him. "You're a fine young man and I wish I'd had more time to get to know you."

While the adults spent the next twenty minutes fondly reminiscing, Gibbs kept one eye on Tony who had edged his wheelchair toward the old upright piano and was gently grazing his fingertips over the keys. He knew the boy's mother had been teaching him to play before she died and he could tell by the faraway look in his eyes that Tony was thinking of it, too.

The removalist knocked at the door shortly after, advising them that they were ready to load the last of the living room furniture.

Taking one elbow each, Gibbs and Marcie carefully helped the elderly lady to her feet and to her Zimmer frame. They moved to the far side of the room and watched as the couch and the easy chairs were removed leaving only the piano.

"I guess this is it?" Mrs Kennelly said with a watery smile.

"Leaving the piano, Mrs K?" Gibbs asked.

"Sam and I bought that old piano our first Christmas in our home," the elderly lady reflected. "Marcie doesn't have the room for it so I sold it with the house. The buyer said he'd love to keep it and it seems fitting that it stays in this old home, don't you think?"

"I do," Gibbs smiled.

After extracting a promise from Gibbs that he would bring Tony to visit her in North Carolina, Mrs Kennelly was settled into the back of Marcie's car and the man and boy watched as the vehicle slowly moved away.

When the car rounded the corner out of sight the former Marine leaned forward to disengage the brake on the wheelchair, then froze as an all too familiar sense of danger sent a shiver running down his spine. His right hand immediately sought the reassurance of his weapon but was found grasping at air when he realised he was unarmed. Scanning the quiet street with trained eyes he looked for anything out of the ordinary but saw nothing. He stood perfectly still, every heightened sense on alert until Tony's voice brought him back to the present.

"Gibbs? Are you okay?"

"Never better," he replied in a reassuring tone.

Ruffling the boy's hair, Gibbs took one more look around before steering the wheelchair into the house and locking the door behind him.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

As the sound of the doorbell resonated through the house, Gibbs reduced the heat of the stove and muttered a curse.

"Gibbs, someone's at the door!" Tony called needlessly from the dining room where he was setting the table for dinner.

"Heard it, Sport," the Gunny replied.

"You want me to get it?" the boy asked, manoeuvring his wheelchair away from the table.

"Stand down, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, wiping his hands on a dish cloth as he headed to the front door. "I got this."

He disengaged the locks and opened the door to a cheerful looking medical examiner.

"Good evening, Jethro!" Ducky greeted. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Always welcome, Duck" he said moving to allow the doctor entry.

"Hi, Doctor Ducky!" Tony called as he wheeled his chair into the living room. "Are you here to have dinner with us? I can set another place. It's no trouble, is it, Gibbs?"

"Nope, no trouble."

"That's very kind of you, Anthony...and, of course, you, too, Jethro," the ME smiled fondly. "Regretfully, I've already made dinner plans for this evening but I would be delighted to join you another time."

"That would be great, wouldn't it, Gibbs?" Tony asked not waiting for an answer. "We could finish reading the Oliver Twist book you gave me."

"Ah, yes…another Dickens classic. I look forward to it, my boy," Ducky replied, placing his hand on the blonde head. "Anthony, would you mind if I spoke with Jethro alone for a few moments?"

Tony's eyes flicked between the two men, immediately sensing that something was not right and Gibbs stepped in with a distraction.

"Cassie's coming tomorrow, Sport," he told him. "You finished your essay?"

The boy brightened immediately, his eyes shining with excitement.

"I have, Gibbs," he said. "I've finished it. I just need to draw the picture."

"Go draw," Gibbs told him. "I'll call you when chow's on."

"Okay," Tony agreed, quickly swinging the wheelchair around and accidentally catching the corner of the wall. The boy looked sheepishly at his foster father.

"Sorry, Gibbs."

The Gunny sighed as he looked at, yet another, dent in the wall.

"Slow it down, Sport, okay."

"I will," Tony nodded before swinging his chair again and managing to collect the wall a second time. "Oops," he said with a grimace before proceeding up the hall to his bedroom at a much slower pace.

"I see the lad's still refining his wheelchair skills," Ducky chuckled.

"He's a wrecking ball on wheels," Gibbs agreed with a wry smile. "Getcha a drink?"

"Thank you," the older man said, following Gibbs into the kitchen. "I spoke with Doctor McNally. He said young Anthony scans were clear."

"Yep...kid's tough as any Marine I ever met."

"And what about you, old friend?" Ducky ventured. "I imagine finding the lad in a full blown seizure gave you quite a scare."

Gibbs carded his fingers through his short silver hair, once again forcing the vision from his mind. He poured the coffee and lowered his voice.

"I was in the next room, Duck," he replied trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "Had no idea he was in trouble."

"Hence the sudden desire to acquire an assistance dog, hmmm?" Ducky surmised.

"Thought you'd approve. You were the first to tell me I can't watch Tony 24/7."

"Oh, I'm not disagreeing," the older man told him. "On the contrary, I think an assistance dog is a splendid idea, it's just..."

"Duck?"

"As co-executors of Anthony's trust account, Alistair and I have been making enquiries on your behalf. There are only three service dog facilities in the entire tri-state area and the demand for their service is extremely high. In fact, the waiting list for a suitable dog can be years."

"Years?" the former Marine felt his gut twist. Tony had his heart set on getting a dog sooner rather than later and the last thing he needed was another disappointment in his life. "Duck, if it's a matter of money-"

"Whilst the training of an assistance dog is very costly, Jethro, you must understand that it is also extremely time-consuming. The process of matching an assistance dog to a recipient is a very complex one. I have taken the first step and filed an application at each of these facilities. You should be contacted by a staff member within four weeks to arrange a face to face interview before going on our waiting list."

"How long are we looking at?"

Ducky paused before responding.

"We could be looking at two to three years," he said sadly.

Sighing audibly, Gibbs closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Anything else we can do, Duck? Apply interstate or overseas?"

"We are already enquiring elsewhere but as these facilities get very little government funding, their resources are extremely limited and the waiting lists are very long. I'm sorry, Jethro, I know this isn't the news you were hoping for."

"Not your fault, Duck. I should have checked into it before I got his hopes up," the former Marine said as he gazed up the hallway toward the boy's room. "S'gonna break his heart."

"Would you like me to stay while you explain it to him?"

"I'll do it, Duck, you have dinner plans."

Checking his watch, Ducky rose to his feet and returned his coffee cup to the kitchen.

"I know it is little consolation," he said. "But rest assured, we will leave no stone unturned in the quest to get that lad a service dog."

"Appreciate your help," Gibbs told him as he walked the ME to his car.

Unlocking the right-side driver's door of his Morgan, Ducky paused and turned to face his friend of many years.

"Nothing is too much trouble for our Anthony," he said fervently. "Nothing."

Gibbs watched Ducky drive away into the darkness before he returned to the house. Feeling the weight of the Tony's world crashing down on his shoulders, the former Gunny never noticed the man watching from a nondescript car several houses away.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

 **A/N - I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to follow ASAP.**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter Two**

Dinner had been a subdued affair with the astute youngster quickly picking up on his foster father's tension and withdrawing into himself. Unable to put the discussion off any longer, Gibbs turned his chair toward the boy and explained the delay in acquiring a service dog.

He watched Tony's reaction closely - the utter disappointment on his young, pale face was like a spear to the former Marine's heart. Tony blinked away tears, refusing to let them fall as he reminded himself of everything Gibbs had given him.

"I...I understand, Gibbs," Tony said quietly.

"We're not giving up, Sport," Gibbs assured him. "Just gonna take a little longer. If anyone can get this done, it's Ducky."

"I know," the boy whispered. "Could I please be excused?"

"You haven't finished your dinner. You can't mess with your Keto diet, Tony."

"I'll have a big breakfast in the morning," Tony replied, looking up through long dark lashes. "Please, Gibbs…I'm really tired."

Not wanting to press the boy, Gibbs nodded his assent and watched as Tony guided his wheelchair slowly down the hallway.

"I'll be right in," he called.

When the boy was out of sight Gibbs rested his head in his hands and silently cursed the fact that he had built Tony's hopes so high only to watch them drop into a seemingly bottomless abyss. His own appetite now gone, he looked at his own half-finished meal and pushed the plate to one-side before climbing wearily to his feet and walking to Tony's room to help him with his nightly routine.

"I'll run your bath," he told the boy.

"Can I have my bath in the morning?" Tony asked, chewing on his bottom lip.

"We got an early start tomorrow, Sport," Gibbs replied. "I gotta go to work and you've got hydrotherapy with Ziva."

Tony's doleful expression silently pleaded his case and the tough Marine acquiesced.

"Just for tonight," he agreed before helping the boy out of the wheelchair and into his pyjamas and soft leg braces. Giving Tony his anticonvulsant meds, he watched as the boy washed them down with a glass of water.

"You brush your teeth?" he asked.

"Yes, Gibbs," came the subdued reply.

Nodding his head, the Gunny settled Tony into bed and reached for the copy of Oliver Twist they'd been enjoying each night. He opened it at the bookmark.

"Where were we?" he asked, knowing the boy would know _exactly_ where they had left off the previous night.

"Gibbs," Tony whispered, not meeting the man's gaze. "I think I'd rather go straight to sleep tonight."

Sighing, Gibbs closed the book and reached over to brush the bangs from the boy's forehead, testing for a fever as he did so.

"You feeling okay?" he asked.

The blonde head nodded slowly.

"Tony look at me," he said, waiting until the sad, green eyes met his.

"I'm fine, Gibbs, really. I just want to go to sleep."

The boy settled into the bed and closed his eyes to shut out the man's further scrutiny. Leaning forward, Gibbs straightened the blankets then double-checked the settings on the seizure alert machine.

"Sleep tight," he whispered placing a kiss on Tony's forehead and dimming the light.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

After clearing the table and doing the dishes, Gibbs started a load of washing, shaking his head at the amount of extra laundry one small boy could create. Walking back to the kitchen he opened the fridge to prepare Tony's keto meals and snacks for the following day and sent a silent thank you to dietician, Nicki Jardine, when he realised she had stacked the freezer with Tony's pre-packaged meals.

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Gibbs made his way to the living room and thumbed his way through his pocket diary to check Tony's schedule –

 _0700 – 0900 Blood work-up and breakfast with Nurse Michelle Davis._

 _0900 – 1400 Hydrotherapy, physio and lunch with Ziva._

 _1400 – 1800 Home-schooling and afternoon tea with Cassie Yates._

Again, he gave silent thanks to the members of Team Tony. The help and support he'd received from his NCIS team mates and Tony's medical team had been invaluable but it was quite evident that, if he were to return to work fulltime, he couldn't impose on his friends on a permanent basis.

Gibbs missed his work at the Navy yard. His job and his colleagues had become his focus and his reason for living when he lost his wife and daughter. He missed leading his team – the thrill of the chase and the undeniable satisfaction of solving a case and bringing a criminal to justice. But when a certain eight year old boy with enormous medical challenges and a grin that wouldn't quit came into his world, he brought new meaning and a renewed sense of purpose to the Gunny's life. Did he want to take early retirement? No. Would he give up his career for Tony? In a heartbeat.

Draining the last of his coffee, Gibbs walked back in to Tony's room and stood watching the steady rise and fall of the small chest. The child's deep rhythmical breathing left no doubt the kid was out for the count. Crossing the room, Gibbs reached to switch off the desk lamp when the boy's homework caught his eye. Tony had already completed his assignment by the time Gibbs told him of the unavoidable delays in acquiring a service dog. Several colourful drawings of a boy in a wheelchair and a dog in a bright blue service vest littered the desk top and misplaced guilt twisted Gibbs' heart like a pretzel.

His gaze fell upon one of Tony's school books - two pages of the boy's messy handwriting that he and Cassie had been working to improve. As the Gunny read on, the innocent words leapt from the page, pulsating with the boy's excitement. Without his glasses and in the muted light, Gibbs held the essay at an arm's length and squinted until he could decipher the words.

 _My New Dog_

 _By Anthony DiNozzo Jr_

 _A few months ago, bad men came to my old house and hurt me. An ambulance came and took me to the hospital but I don't remember that bit. When I woke up, I was very sad because my Dad had gone to heaven to be with my Mom and I was all alone._

 _But Gibbs came and he hardly ever left me because he didn't want me to be lonely. I was in the hospital a really, really long time because I can't walk anymore and I have epilepsy now. This makes me sad sometimes because I can't play basketball or climb trees or run really fast or ride my bike like a normal kid._

 _Then Gibbs asked me to come and to live with him and I said yes because I know he loves me and will take care of me. But first we had to see a lady judge because Gibbs said she was very smart. Gibbs is my foster father now – which is kind of like a real father because he gets to tell me father-stuff like "go clean your teeth" and "don't take your wheelchair near the ramp by yourself" and "chew your food properly."_

 _But the best part about having a foster father is that we get to do cool things together like watching movies and trick or treating and going to the park on a really mad bike that Gibbs made just for us. Gibbs loves me like I am his real son - even though I can't walk and have epilepsy and am a lot of trouble sometimes._

 _I have lots of new friends like Abby and Kate and Tim and Doctor Ducky (that's not his real name. His real name is…I'm not sure what his real name is but it's not Doctor Ducky.) Jimmy and Breena and Jenny and Director Vance and Mrs Vance and Agent Fornell and Ziva and Nurse Michelle and Doctor Mac and Nicki and Miss Cassie, and Commander Coleman._

 _I even have some new kid friends like Kayla and Emily and Jared and Victoria (but she's just a tiny baby and too young to play with me.) They are all really nice even though Emily's really bossy sometimes because she's a girl. I have a new grandpa, too! I never had a grandparent before but I think my Grandpa Jack gives the best hugs in the whole world._

 _Last week I had a bad seizure. I don't remember it but I fell out of my wheelchair and hit my head really hard. That made Gibbs really sad because he said he should have been with me and I shouldn't have been alone._

 _So now Gibbs is going to get me a service dog! My dog will stay with me and help me turn off the lights and take off my socks and things like that. He'll be the smartest dog in the world and Gibbs says he'll watch my six and will bark for Gibbs to come quick if I have a seizure or if I need him._

 _When my dog's not working, we can play fetch together and go to the park to play and I'll tell him not to be afraid of Commander Coleman's dog Kort even though he's really big and only has one eye. He looks really, really mean but he's very friendly. I will give my dog lots of hugs and pats because he'll be my very best friend._

 _I can't wait until my dog comes to live with us and I can show him to all my friends. They will be really jealous because I'll have the best dog ever. But most of all, when my new dog is looking after me, I hope Gibbs can stop worrying about me because I want him to be happy again._

 _The End._

Gibbs closed his eyes; overwhelmed for a moment before making his way to Tony's bedside and cupping the sleeping boy's face in his hand.

"Way to break my heart, kid," he whispered, watching as the boy wrinkled his nose and then settled again. "You'll get your dog, Sport…I promise."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

The following morning was rushed and chaotic; far from the leisurely morning routine Gibbs had tried to establish before returning to work on a temporary basis. Tony's seizure alert had sounded three times during the night, resulting in Gibbs sleeping in the recliner in the boy's room. When he awoke with a start, he realised that he was already running late for an important briefing at the Navy yard.

Showering and dressing quickly, he hurried back to Tony's room to run the bath and prepare the boy for his day. The boy was unusually ill-tempered and uncooperative – a common disposition for children after suffering a seizure but not common at all for Tony. His sullen attitude only added to Gibbs' frustration and concern.

Nurse Michelle Davis was due any minute to draw a sample of Tony's blood and test his ketosis levels. Michelle started work at the hospital mid-morning and would stay and have breakfast with Tony until Ziva arrived at nine to take the boy to the nearby indoor pool for his hydrotherapy sessions.

Still tired and cranky from the seizures and broken sleep, Tony refused to allow Michelle to draw his blood. The kid's skinny arms were black and blue due to the regular blood draws but despite the discomfort, he generally endured like a champion. Puzzled by Tony's behaviour, Michelle looked to the agent for an explanation.

"Had a bad night," the Gunny told her succinctly. "Three seizures."

A battle of wills ensued and the longer Tony dug his heels in, the more Gibbs' frustration grew until, finally, the boy relented. As Michelle quickly and efficiently took the blood sample, Gibbs watched two large tears make their way silently down Tony's pale cheeks.

"He'll be fine, Gibbs," Michelle assured him. "Go…you're already late."

Leaning in to the boy for a hug, Gibbs looked Tony in the eyes and spoke quietly.

"See you tonight, Sport."

Tony nodded his head and looked away and Gibbs was tempted to call the office right then and resign all over again. He hated to leave the boy like this but placed a chaste kiss on the blonde head and forced himself to hurry out the door.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

At eleven-thirty, Ziva guided Tony's wheelchair up the ramp of the rehab pool and into a unisex change room. The boy had been unusually quiet and subdued all morning and Ziva watched him carefully; surreptitiously checking for fever or illness and later recording three absent seizures into Tony's seizure diary.

After towelling the boy down, she helped him into a pair of sweat pants and a sweater before guiding his wheelchair to the car and buckling him into his seat. The physiotherapist collapsed the chair and stowed it in the trunk before she realised she'd left Tony's sports bag and her wallet inside.

Whispering a curse in Hebrew, she started to unbuckle the boy's seatbelt.

"I am sorry, Tony," she said. "This will only take a minute and then we will go home and have some lunch, yes?"

"I can stay here," Tony replied quietly.

"Out of the question, young man."

"But why? You said it will only take a minute. By the time you help me with my wheelchair you could have been back already."

Ziva paused, looking thoughtfully at the boy and then toward the back door of the complex only twenty yards away.

"I'm not a baby, you know," he huffed.

Smiling, the young woman placed her hand gently on the side of his face.

"I know that, little one," she smiled. "But Gibbs would have my hide if anything happened to you."

"What could happen to me in the car?"

"Nothing," she answered, handing Tony the keys and pressing the remote button into his hand. "You keep the doors locked and do not open them until I get back. If you need me, you press this button hard and hold it. The alarm will sound. I will be right back."

With one last look at the boy, Ziva jogged for the door of the complex and ran her access card through the reader on the wall. The door opened and she went quickly to the change rooms where she had left the bag. She baulked and looked around the room but the bag was gone. Cursing silently again, she rushed to the reception area, grateful that the bag had been turned in to the "lost and found."

Having been delayed for several minutes, she headed for the parking lot, bursting through the door and feeling her heart jump into her throat when she saw a strange man talking to Tony through the half-open window.

"Tony!" she yelled. "Tony, no!"

She ran quickly to the car, placing herself between the man and the boy and wielding the sports bag threateningly.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Stepping away quickly, the man held up his hands defensively.

"Take it easy, lady," he said. "I was walking by and I saw the kid alone in the car. I was just checking to see if he was alright."

Ziva's eyes narrowed and she took a quick glance at Tony before returning her attention to the man.

"Tony, are you alright? Did this man frighten you?"

"I'm fine, Ziva, really?" Tony told her.

"If anyone's guilty of scaring the kid, lady, it's you!"

The young woman held her glare a moment longer before she shrugged apologetically and lowered the bag.

"I am sorry," she said. "I was concerned for the boy."

"Then next time, don't leave him in the car alone," the man growled angrily as he walked away.

Releasing a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Ziva turned back to the wide-eyed boy and placed her hands either side of his face.

"Tony, what were you thinking?" she asked. "I told you not to open the door – and you should never, _ever_ , speak to strangers!"

"I didn't open the door, Ziva, I opened the window. He wasn't going to hurt me." Unaccustomed to the Israeli's raised voice, Tony dropped eyes to the ground. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

The young woman shuddered as she thought about what could have happened. Tony had seen his own father gunned down by strangers and yet the boy's trusting nature was still completely intact. Slipping a finger under the boys chin, she raised his head until he met her gaze.

"I am not angry at you, Tony," she smiled. "I am, however, very angry at myself for leaving you alone – even for a short time. We have both learned a lesson today, yes?"

"I guess so."

"Okay then. Let's go home and have some lunch. I am starving!"

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

The level of Gibbs' frustration did not recede when he arrived at the Navy yard. A morning full of long, tedious meetings with Sec Nav and several other DC bureaucrats left him in no doubt that, for him, riding a desk was not an option.

He'd managed a quick call home at 13:00 and was not surprised when Ziva told him the boy was napping. Tony loved his hydrotherapy sessions but they were physically draining and with his seizures and broken sleep the night before, the agent knew the kid had to be exhausted.

"Gibbs, I must tell you of something that occurred this morning," the Israeli said.

"I'm listening," he replied feeling his gut tighten.

"It was completely my fault. I made a terrible judgement call and left Tony in a very vulnerable situation."

"What happened?"

Squaring her shoulders, the young woman explained what had happened in the parking lot of the sporting complex.

"When I think what may have happened...I..." she took a deep breath before continuing. "I was negligent and I understand if you wish to terminate my employment."

"Tony alright?"

"Yes, he was not harmed and did not appear frightened in any way."

"Learn from it and move on," Gibbs said. "I'll talk to Tony."

After completing the call, Gibbs sat at his desk and ran his hands through his short silver hair.

His infamous gut tightened again, a nebulous acknowledgement of a danger narrowly missed. Without further hesitation he called the sporting complex and asked if they had CCTV cameras in the parking lot area. When they answered in the positive, he arranged for them to send him the footage for earlier that day. He knew that using his position as a federal agent was bending several regulations but if it meant keeping his kid safe, he'd gladly accept the written reprimand in his file.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tim McGee was seated at his desk when the elevator opened and Kate and Gibbs hurried into the bullpen.

"That was quick," he said. "I didn't expect you back for another hour."

"We got a call from Director Vance," Kate replied. "He wants to see us in his office...right now?"

"Did he say why?" McGee asked climbing to his feet.

"Does he ever?" Gibbs quipped.

Without further discussion, the agents took the stairs and made their way to the director's office.

"Take a seat," the director told them, waiting until the three agents were seated at the conference table. "We just got a call on the NCIS hot line. It seems Lance Corporal Powell wants out of his arrangement with Haynes after all. He's calling back in ten minutes but he'll only speak with Gibbs."

Nearly five months ago, the MCRT had worked a case involving the drug overdose and subsequent death of a young Marine. The investigation led to Lance Corporal, Larry Powell, who had used his position in the Corp to sell and distribute narcotics to other Marines. During the interrogation, Gibbs had leaned hard on Powell and uncovered a connection to a powerful and fast growing drug cartel run by Kelvin Haynes that had recently established itself on the east coast. The lead agent had offered to cut Powell a deal if the Marine gathered information to assist them to shut down the Haynes cartel.

Powell had reluctantly agreed and, several days later, contacted Gibbs with the location of the cartel's next narcotics delivery. Gibbs marshalled four NCIS teams to the location, finding it empty and deserted. The team had used every resource to find the missing Marine but there had been no trace of him and they suspected that he had been caught and murdered by Haynes. Officially, the case remained open and Gibbs was determined to tie up loose ends.

When the call came through a few minutes later, Powell sounded anxious and skittish – like a man who knew he was in way over his head and wanted out fast. He told Gibbs that Haynes was expecting another delivery tonight, sometime between 18:00 and 22:00 at warehouse 47A on dock 29. The lead agent glanced at the director who nodded his approval.

"We'll be there," Gibbs told Powell and ended the call.

"He played us once, Boss," McGee said. "How do we know he won't do it again?"

"He went to ground five months ago, McGee. Coulda stayed there...he didn't."

"McGee and I have got this, Gibbs," Kate told him. "You should go home to Tony."

Gibbs checked his watch. It was already after 1700 but if he'd taught his people anything it was that they were a team and each member pulled their weight.

"Rule 38," he replied. "My case, my lead."

Removing his cell from his pocket, he walked to the other side of the room. He needed to arrange a sitter for Tony and while he would usually turn to Abby or Kate, that was not an option as both were working tonight. Ziva had night classes, Jackson was in Stillwater and Tony's home-schooling teacher, Cassie Yates had already worked over her scheduled hours twice this week. Despite a willing and capable support group, it was becoming more and more obvious that the agent's return to work on a fulltime basis would not be possible.

Scrolling through the contacts on his cell, he stared at the name before pressing the button and waited impatiently for the owner to pick up.

"Jenny? It's Jethro...got a big favour to ask."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

It was almost 8PM before Gibbs got a chance to call home and say goodnight to his kid. He was surprised and somewhat disappointed to learn that Tony was already in bed asleep. Usually when Gibbs worked late, the boy would not go to bed until the Gunny had called to say good night.

"He feeling okay?" he asked Jenny.

"There was no sign of fever and he ate all of his dinner," she replied. "But he hasn't been the happy little boy we know."

"Any seizures?"

"Two absence seizures during dinner, I wrote them in his diary. And before you ask, I gave him his anticonvulsant meds before he went to sleep...he's fine, Jethro, really."

"Could be a late one," Gibbs told her. "The guest room is made up."

"Thanks but I think I'd rather stay downstairs in case he needs me. Plus I have a huge selection of Tony's movie classics to keep me company."

"Thanks, Jen...I owe you one."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tony rolled onto his side and glanced toward the window - it was still dark outside. Yawning widely, he closed his eyes again and snuggled back under his blankets but sleep was elusive. He thought about the last few days – the excitement of getting a dog and then the heartbreak of finding out there was a long delay. He knew that Gibbs felt almost as let down as he did and he knew it wasn't the Gunny's fault. He'd tried really hard not to let his disappointment show but he couldn't help it...it just kind of leaked out of his eyes. He really, really, _really_ wanted a dog.

Rubbing his face into the pillow, the boy made a promise. In the morning, he would tell his foster father that he was sorry for being upset with him and that he would wait as long as he had to for his dog. After all, Gibbs had already done so much for him and he didn't want the Gunny to think that he was ungrateful. In fact, with Thanksgiving quickly approaching, Miss Cassie and Tony had been discussing the many things the boy had to be thankful for and his new foster father was at the tippity-top of his list.

Tony frowned as he heard the sound of soft voices coming from the living room. Had Gibbs fallen asleep with the TV on again? He'd better go and wake him before he got a sore neck and got all cranky like he did last time. It took a great deal of effort but Tony manoeuvred himself until he was sitting, sweaty and breathless on the edge of the bed. He waited until his breathing returned to normal before lowering his body into his wheelchair, just as Ziva had taught him. Releasing the brake, the boy guided his chair down the hall to the living room where he found Jenny trying to calm a distraught Abby.

All colour ran from the boy's face and his large green eyes filled with fear.

"Where's Gibbs?" he whispered.

The women turned quickly, surprised to see him. It was Jenny who reacted first, quickly moving to crouch beside him and taking his hand in hers.

"Tony, what are you doing up? Are you okay?" she asked with a forced smile.

Ignoring the question, Tony looked past her to the forensic specialist with mascara tracking down her cheeks. He pulled his hand out of Jenny's grasp.

"Just tell me," he insisted softly. "What happened?"

Abby joined Jenny, crouching on the other side of Tony's chair. The two women exchanged a glance before Jenny spoke again.

"Tony, honey, Gibbs has been shot."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

A/N:- Thank you for the kind reviews and for the "favourites and follows." I'm very grateful. SMcG


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter Three**

"Really, Jethro, you are being quite unreasonable about this," Ducky admonished. "You were shot! The doctor wants you in here overnight!"

"Was a through and through, Duck," Gibbs understated. "Gotta get home to my kid."

"I agree with Ducky," Kate told the former Marine. "It's two in the morning and Tony's sound asleep! Besides, Jenny is staying with him tonight and she'll bring him here to see you when she starts work at nine!"

Gibbs tugged one-handed at his open-backed hospital gown.

"Unless you want me to sign outta here bare-assed, someone better find my pants," he growled.

At the back of the room, McGee's cell phone beeped loudly and he silently read the text message.

"You might wanna hold off on that, Boss," he said.

Opening the door he stepped into the corridor, looking both ways before waving to someone. A moment later he stepped aside, allowing the small boy to guide his wheelchair into the room. Tony's eyes shone with unshed tears which spilled down his cheeks when he saw his foster father.

"G...Gibbs," he whispered.

"Tony?"

Gibbs made a move to get out of the bed and was halted by McGee's response.

"I'll get him, Boss," he said.

The IT Specialist lifted the boy from his wheelchair and onto the bed with Gibbs, mindful to place the child on the opposite side of the agent's injured arm. He lifted the side rail of the bed to prevent the boy from falling and stepped back to watch as the youngster wrapped his arms around Gibbs' neck and silently cried into his chest.

"It's okay, Sport," Gibbs soothed, rubbing the boy's back to calm him. "What are you doing here?"

Tony wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his pyjamas. He reached out his fingers and tentatively brushed them over Gibbs' sling.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yep," the Gunny answered. "Doc says I'm gonna be fine."

The boy's tears flowed again and his words came in a rush.

"I'm really, really sorry I was mean to you, Gibbs. I'm sorry that I wouldn't talk to you or let you read our story - even though I really wanted to know what happened to Fagan and whether Brownlow adopted Oliver. And I know it's not your fault that I can't get my dog yet. Even if I never, ever get a dog, you're right at the tippity-top of my Thanksgiving list."

Gibbs smiled and kissed the top of his kid's head.

"You're at the top of my list, too, Sport."

Tony lifted his head and looked at Gibbs with a serious expression that belied his eight years.

"Jenny and Abby said you have to stay in hospital tonight, so I made them bring me here. But don't be mad at them, Gibbs, because it was all my idea, okay?"

"Okay," Gibbs agreed biting back a grin at the boy's sombre expression.

"You wanna know why I made them bring me here? Because you always stay with me in the hospital, Gibbs, and it makes me feel better when you're with me. Now it's my turn to stay with you. So...you just go to sleep and I'll be right here when you wake up."

Gibbs hugged the boy close and looked over the top of his head at the smug faces of his friends.

"Using my kid against me?" he asked them.

"Whatever works," Kate replied smiling sweetly. "We should go and let you get some rest."

"I believe the doctor's rounds are at 8AM," Ducky added moving toward the door. "After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, you should be discharged by nine."

"It's Saturday so Abby and I'll swing by to drop you home, Boss," McGee said.

Jenny placed an overnight bag at the foot of the bed.

"I've brought Tony's meds and a change of clothes for you both," she said before she, too, headed for the door.

Abby quickly ran back to the bed, kissing both Tony and Gibbs on the cheek before returning to the door and flicking off the light.

"Sleep tight," she said before following the other out of the room and closing the door behind them.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Secure in the one-armed embrace of his foster father, Tony had quickly drifted off to sleep; his warm, steady breath tickling Gibbs' neck with every exhalation. The former Marine closed his eyes and relished the closeness of the boy until the unintentional movement of his left shoulder resulted in a throbbing pain shooting down his arm. With his back protesting strongly from laying too long in one position, he slowly and carefully extracted himself from the sleeping child and moved to the far side of the narrow hospital bed, putting a few inches between them. It took less than a minute for Tony to subconsciously sense the change and snuggle into him again. Gibbs smiled as he carded his fingers through the boy's fine hair.

They'd had a close call tonight. When the shout went out at the warehouse for Haynes' men to drop their weapons, all hell had broken loose. It was a credit to his team and the agents providing back-up that no one was killed.

In the muted light, Gibbs watched the boy's face; peaceful in sleep. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to Tony if the bullet that pierced his arm had hit him three inches to the right.

Although Gibbs was Tony's foster father, the child was still considered a ward of the state and, should anything happen to Gibbs, he would be placed back into the system. Gibbs had no doubt that his father would seek custody of the boy but Jackson's age would surely be held against him – as would Ducky's. It was obvious that his teammates and friends adored Tony and would do all they could for him but they had family and careers of their own - could he realistically expect any of them to consider making a home for an eight year old boy with serious health issues?

The door opened quietly and a nurse appeared with a syringe and pain meds on a tray. Her face softened when she saw the boy sprawled in sleep over most of the bed.

"I see we have a gate-crasher," she said softly. "Want me to ask the orderly to bring in another bed?"

"He's fine," Gibbs replied.

"You're not going to get much rest with him like that," she replied.

"He's right where I need him," Gibbs replied, brushing the bangs from the boy's face.

"Then at least let me give you some stronger pain meds; something to help you sleep."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Tony has epilepsy. If he has a seizure, I'll need to be alert."

"That's where I've seen you!" she exclaimed. "I was doing my Paeds rotation the night Tony was brought in. It was touch and go as I recall. He's a tough kid."

"The toughest," the Gunny said proudly.

"I can probably track down a seizure monitor," she said.

"Thanks, but that's not necessary."

The nurse produced a tablet in a small white cup.

"At least take half of this. It will help take the edge off and ease you into a more natural sleep. Don't worry, if Tony needs you, you'll wake up right away but I really think you should try to rest."

Nodding in agreement, Gibbs washed the tablet down with a mouthful of water and watched as the nurse pulled the blanket up to Tony's chin and left the room. As the Gunny gave in to the tug of sleep his last thought was ensuring that his kid had a secure future with people who loved him.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Nocturnal seizures are a common occurrence in children with epilepsy. Several times, Gibbs felt the small body go rigid and start to convulse. While most of the seizures lasted for only thirty seconds, the big one came as zero six hundred. Struggling to secure him with the use of only one arm, Gibbs placed his hand on the boy's back and spoke softly to him.

"S'okay, Sport. I'm here…I'm right with you."

When the seizure finally stopped, Tony slowly opened his dazed green eyes and gave Gibbs a crooked smile before his eyelids closed and sleep took him. Following every major seizure, Tony experienced drowsiness, exhaustion and confusion as his brain recovered from the trauma This period, known as the postical state, generally lasted between five and thirty minutes depending of the severity of the seizure. Kissing the boy on the forehead Gibbs slipped out of bed, ensuring both safety rails were raised before moving to the adjoining bathroom to shower and dress.

Sitting in the chair across the room, the Gunny watched the sleeping boy. Once again his concerns for Tony's future rushed to the forefront of his mind. If something was to happen to Gibbs, Tony's trust fund would cover his education, medication and material needs. But the boy needed stability and a loving home – someone who would encourage him to strive to reach his full potential. If Tony became a ward of the state, Gibbs doubted that would happen.

By the time the boy's eyes opened again, Gibbs was reading a newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee.

"Gibbs?"

"How you doing?" he said, climbing to his feet and approaching the bed.

"Why'd you let me sleep?" Tony yawned. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you!"

"Just reading the paper, Sport," he replied. "Don't need any help with that."

Tony threw back the covers and manoeuvred his still legs over the edge of the bed. As Gibbs steadied the wheelchair, the boy slid down into it.

"You're getting pretty good at that," Gibbs said ruffling the blonde head.

Tony smiled proudly then narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the man from head to toe.

"How'd you get dressed?" he asked.

"Same way I always get dressed," Gibbs replied.

Not satisfied, the boy continued his inspection and pointed to his foster father's feet.

"How'd you do up your laces? You used your sore arm, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Gibbs replied nodding.

Tony shook his head in disappointment and folded his arms across his small chest.

"You wanna get better, Gibbs, you gotta do what the doc tells ya."

Gibbs almost guffawed. He wasn't used to having his own words used against him but he had to hand it to the little mimic - his Leroy Jethro Gibbs impression was nearly flawless.

With the use of only one arm, Gibbs found that getting Tony washed up and dressed was a struggle and both were more than ready to eat when breakfast arrived. Leaning back in his chair, Gibbs grinned as Tony insisted on cutting the man's food into small pieces – after all, the boy told him, he had two good arms and Gibbs had only one.

Moments later, Gibbs looked up from his meal to see Tony watching him worriedly.

"Gibbs...are you really okay?"

"I'm fine, Sport," he said. "Bullet missed the bone. After some physio, the arm will be good as new."

"I bet Ziva could help your arm, Gibbs," Tony told him. "She's the best physiotherapist I've ever had."

"Had a lot of physiotherapists have you, Sport?" Gibbs grinned.

"Well...no, just Ziva...but she's really good and if you work really hard during your session, I bet she'll play a game with you at the end just like she does with me."

"Ya think?"

"I'm sure," the boy nodded his head but the worried expression returned to his face and he chewed his bottom lip.

"I was scared, Gibbs," he whispered.

"S'okay to be scared, Tony. Everybody gets scared."

"Even you?"

"Yeah, Sport, even me," Gibbs assured him. "I'm gonna be fine. I got you to watch out for me, right?"

"Right!" Tony grinned. "And I'm gonna take real good care of you, Gibbs, you'll see!"

With breakfast over, the doctor arrived shortly thereafter and declared Gibbs fit to leave.

As the young resident prescribed antibiotics that were to be taken three times daily with meals and pain killers to be taken after physio or as needed, Tony listened carefully, committing the aftercare instructions to memory before grilling the young doctor on possible side-effects and the finer points of administering CPR – just in case Gibbs suffered a relapse.

They were waiting for the discharge paperwork to be processed when McGee and Abby arrived. After a few moments, the forensic specialist reached for her handbag.

"Oh, Gibbs, I almost forgot," she said holding up a memory stick. "The CCTV footage you requested. Kate asked me to give it to you."

Gibbs hesitated, looking pointedly at McGee and then nodding at Tony. The younger agent caught on quickly.

"Er...hey, Squirt," he said. "I thought I saw a Formula One video game in the lounge. What do you say? You up for it?"

"Thanks, Tim, but I have to take care of Gibbs. It's very important."

"Abby will look after Gibbs until we get back, won't you, Abs?"

"Of course I will," Abby smiled.

Tony's eyes flicked from adult to adult as he contemplated the answer.

"O-kay," he agreed reluctantly before turning to Abby. "The nurse should be back soon with his meds and his papers. Make sure he rests until she gets here."

"Gotcha," Abby nodded.

"He's already had two cups of coffee this morning, so if he gets thirsty, he can have ice chips or juice, no more coffee."

"Ice chips or juice, got it," Abby repeated.

"Tim and I will be in the lounge, so...if you need me, just come and get me," the boy said solemnly.

"I promise" Abby replied, just as solemnly.

As Tim guided the wheelchair out the door, Abby exchanged a grin with the former Marine.

"You've met your match, my silver fox," she smiled.

"Tell me about it," Gibbs muttered before nodding to the memory stick. "You bring your laptop?"

"Of course!"

Placing her laptop on the rolling table, she fired it up and inserted the media device.

"What's this all about?" she asked.

Gibbs explained what had happened at the sports complex the previous day. How Tony had been approached by a strange man while sitting alone in the car.

"Oh my God, Gibbs," Abby said. "Do you think that man knew Tony?"

"S'what we're gonna find out."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

"You beat me three times in a row," Tony said shaking his head.

"I thought you had me in that last game," McGee replied.

"You went easy on me," Tony sighed. "Do you think I'll ever be as good as you are, Tim?"

"Are you kidding? At the rate you're improving, before too long _you'll_ be going easy on me," he told the boy. "

"Maybe we should be getting back. Gibbs might need me," Tony said.

"I'm sure Abby will come and get you if Gibbs needs you. Besides, we haven't had a chance to hang out, lately."

"Okay," Tony smiled.

"Abby told me that there's been a delay with your dog. I'm sorry, Squirt, you okay about that?"

"I'll get my dog one day, Gibbs said so," the boy replied with certainty.

"Well, if Gibbs said so, it's a lock. Everyone knows that Gibbs is a man of his word."

Tony nodded.

"Did you have a dog when you were a kid, Tim?"

"Nah...I really wanted one, though, but my father said no."

"Why?"

"It's...complicated but he was away a lot and he didn't think I'd look after it," Tim said. "I would have though, I always wanted a dog of my own. About three weeks later, my sister asked my father if she could have a cat. He said yes."

"Cats are nice," Tony shrugged.

"Not when you have allergies," Tim replied. "My eyes itched and I sneezed constantly until I left for college."

"Do you have a dog now?"

"Matter of fact, I do," Tim smiled. "I have a German Shepherd."

" _You do?_ What's his name?"

The IT specialist felt the heat of a blush. "Er…his name is...Jethro."

A sharp inhale caused Tony to choke and cough for a long moment until his breathing and the colour of his face returned to normal. He stared at the agent for several seconds before his face lit up in a bright smile.

"That's Gibbs' name!" he laughed. "Why did you name your dog after Gibbs?"

"Actually, Abby named him Jethro but I kinda like it...it suits him."

"Can I meet him?"

"Sure! I'll bring him over one day and we'll go to the park?"

They exchanged another grin.

"Hey, Tim? How come you weren't allowed to have a dog but your sister was allowed to get a cat?"

"For the same reason I know Gibbs will do whatever he can to get you a dog."

"What's that?"

"Because Gibbs may be your foster father but he's more of a Dad to you than my father ever was to me."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Pressing a button the laptop, Abby paused the vision for the fifth time and leaned closer to the screen.

"This guy was either really lucky or, like, he knew what he was doing, Gibbs."

"Always had his back to the cameras. Never revealed his face," Gibbs nodded.

"But don't you just love the way Ziva got all Powderpuff Girl? I mean, she put herself between possible danger and Tony."

"She had two years in the Israeli Defence Forces, Abs. Wouldn't exactly call her a powder puff."

"I don't know how much pain she could inflict with a sports bag but she _was_ trying to protect Tony. Anyway, this guy could have been telling the truth. He could have seen Tony alone in the car and been genuinely concerned."

"Maybe, Gibbs replied. "Should be easy to check out; it's a member's only facility. Need an access card to enter the parking lot _and_ the complex."

"Then they should be able to provide a list of anyone who entered while Tony and Ziva were there."

Gibbs nodded but continued to stare at the screen.

"Abs, what about reflection? Can we get an image?" he asked.

"I doubt it. Normally there would be a reflection on the window but Tony opened it when he saw the man coming so..."

"Damn it," Gibbs muttered.

"Maybe Ziva and Tony and I could use my face-sketching program and come up with an image."

"I'll talk to Ziva on Monday but I don't want Tony involved in this."

"Okay, but someone needs to talk to our favourite munchkin about stranger danger."

"I got it covered," Gibbs replied.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

"Hey! Looks like your new neighbours are moving in," McGee said as he guided the sedan into Gibbs' driveway.

The large moving van was prominently parked in the front yard of the house next door. Securely strapped into his car seat, Tony craned his neck trying to get a good look.

"Can you see them, Gibbs?" he asked. "Are there any kids? Maybe they have a dog. Do you think they have a dog, Gibbs? Maybe I could play with him sometimes."

"I dunno, Sport. All I see right now is the van," he replied. "Give 'em time to settle in. We'll meet 'em soon enough."

With Gibbs' arm in a sling, he watched as McGee and Abby transferred Tony to his wheelchair and into the house where Abby spent the next few minutes trying to convince Gibbs to let her stay and help.

"How will you manage using only one arm?" she asked. "I mean, it's the weekend. I could stay here and, you know, help you take care of Tony."

"You don't have to take care of me, Abby," Tony told her. "I'm going to be taking care of Gibbs. I listened really close to the doctor and I know exactly what to do."

"I know you do, Short Stuff, but who's going to help you with your exercises and your bath?"

"My bath!" Tony exclaimed. "Abby, you can't help me with my bath! You're a girl!"

"Yeah but I'm also a scientist, right? Scientists see naked bodies almost all the time...for scientific reasons, of course."

Tony's large eyes widened and he turned to his foster father in horror.

"Gibbs!" he pleaded.

Although secretly enjoying the boy's indignation, the former Marine took pity on him.

"We got it, Abs, thanks."

"Okay, well, you have my cell number," she said. "Call me anytime and for, like, anything. Okay?"

Gibbs and Tony were waving goodbye to Abby and McGee when a man appeared at the door of the house next door.

"Afternoon," he called to them as he approached the fence.

"Afternoon," the Gunny replied.

"Sure is a hot one!" he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Are you our new neighbour?" Tony chirped. "Do you have a dog?"

"Nope, to both questions young fella," the man chuckled. "I'm just the removalist. The new owner had some business to finish up – sent his furniture on ahead."

"Oh," Tony said sadly. "Do you know if _he_ has a dog?"

"Sorry, Son, I told you all I know. 'Cept I think he'll be moving in some time around Christmas."

Thanking the man, Gibbs used his good arm to push Tony's wheelchair up the ramp and back into the house. The lack of restful sleep the night before had started to take its toll and the former Marine headed for the kitchen and flicked the switch on his coffee machine.

"Gibbs!" Tony called from his bedroom. "Gibbs could you please help me?"

Curious, the Gunny walked up the hallway and found the boy leaning precariously out of his wheelchair and struggling with the straps of his standing frame.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing?" he said reaching to steady the standing frame.

"It's Saturday," Tony answered as if it was the most obvious thing. "Saturday is when we do our housework remember, Gibbs?"

"I still got one good arm, Sport, I can handle the housework."

"But the doctor said you had to rest," Tony countered. "If you help me into my standing frame, I can make your lunch and then you can take a nap on the couch while I do the laundry and…and…the other stuff."

The child looked the Gunny in the eyes and straightened his shoulders.

"It's what we do for family, Gibbs," he said sombrely.

The former Marine felt his chest tighten. That was the second time today the kid had used his own words against him and he fought the urge to hug the stuffing out of him. The practical side of the man urged him to say no but the genuine sincerity reflected in those big green eyes shut down any argument. Gibbs began helping Tony into his standing frame.

"Kitchens can be dangerous, Tony, 'specially in your frame. I don't want you in there by yourself."

"But Gibbs-"

The Gunny held up his hand to silence the boy.

"I'll help with lunch," he conceded. "Then we'll talk about what else you can do to help out."

"By myself though, right Gibbs?"

"By yourself," Gibbs agreed.

The boy extended his small hand with an earnest look on his face.

"You promise?" he asked hopefully.

Suppressing a grin, the former Marine shook the boy's offered hand.

"Promise," he said.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Gibbs stood by the boy's side, watching closely as Tony manoeuvred his standing frame around the small kitchen. With the stove and the oven deemed off limits, the boy had decided to make his foster father a sandwich for lunch and he was putting the finishing touches on his specialty - peanut butter and jelly, a la DiNozzo. Gibbs grimaced as an avalanche of sickly sweet jelly smothered the thick layer of peanut butter.

Tony looked up, grinning proudly at his masterpiece.

"One sandwich or two, Gibbs?" he asked.

"One's more than enough, Sport," he said with a wry smile.

Grabbing Gibbs' USMC coffee mug, the boy guided his frame to the opposite side of the kitchen. Feeling the watchful eyes of his foster father upon him, he nodded his head in acknowledgement of the silent warning before reaching for the hot coffee pot.

The tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on pouring the coffee without spilling the contents or burning himself. Once again, the Gunny's face contorted into a grimace as the sludge at the bottom of the pot slid into his mug. He forced a neutral expression as Tony handed him the coffee mug and waited in silent anticipation for Gibbs to take a sip.

"Black with no sugar," Tony said. "That's just how you like it, right, Gibbs?"

"Yup," the man said, "just how I like it."

Tony continued to watch expectantly as the former Marine reluctantly lifted the mug to his mouth and took a sip of the gritty liquid. He held the coffee in his mouth as long as he could before grudgingly swallowing.

"Do you like it?" the boy asked.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Perfect," he coughed.

"See, Gibbs, I told you I can look after you!" Tony beamed. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tony had chatted happily while eating his pre-packed Keto lunch of apple and cinnamon pancakes and heavy whipped cream. Across the table, Gibbs eyed the pancakes enviously as he choked down the last of his sandwich and washed it down with the gritty coffee substance.

He had agreed to allow Tony to hand wash the few dishes from lunch, change the towels and pillowslips in his room and to attend to a pile of washing that had been steadily growing over the past few busy days. The boy had wanted to do more but Gibbs told him that those few chores were a big help to him and the rest could wait until his arm had healed a little.

"What's this?" Gibbs asked, picking up an envelope with his name on it.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" Tony said, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. "That's a permission note. Miss Cassie left it for you to sign."

"For what?"

"My first home-school excursion," the boy smiled excitedly. "Miss Cassie wants to take me to the American History Museum at the Smithsonian. Isn't that great, Gibbs? I've always wanted to go there."

Gibbs looked at the excitement in the big green eyes and felt his gut shout a warning. Until he learned the identity of the man that had approached his kid yesterday, he wasn't about to let the boy leave the house without him.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked. "It's okay, isn't it? There's no entrance fee and I can take a packed lunch, so it wouldn't cost anything and Miss Cassie said that it's very, very educational. Can I go, Gibbs, _please?_ "

"I got some time off," the Gunny said nodding at his sling. "Maybe I'll come with you."

"Really, Gibbs? That would be great!" Tony enthused as he began clearing the dishes.

The boy made several trips from the dining room to the kitchen and back again while Gibbs watched surreptitiously over the top of the newspaper. The clatter of crockery and the clang of cutlery resonated from the kitchen as the boy attended to his chores, humming happily as he did so. When the noise and humming abruptly stopped, Gibbs quickly looked in Tony's direction, noting the glazed, faraway look of an absence seizure on the boy's face. A moment later the seizure ended and, unaware of what had happened, the child continued to do the dishes and resumed humming.

Satisfied the kitchen was tidy, Tony used his push-rims to wheel himself into the living room where he found Gibbs reading the paper.

"Why aren't you taking your nap?" he asked.

"Cos I'm not four years old," the Gunny replied.

"But the doctor said-"

"Doc said I had to rest, not nap. This is me resting."

Tony considered the response for a moment before nodding his head.

"I'm going to start the laundry now," he said. "If you need me for anything, just call me and I'll come right back, okay?"

"Roger that," the Gunny replied. "Need a hand in there?"

"I know how to do it, Gibbs. I've helped you lots of times."

"O-kay," the man nodded as the boy awkwardly turned his standing frame and headed for his bedroom.

Several minutes later, the grunting and groaning coming from Tony's room got the better of him and Gibbs quietly crept down the hallway and peered into the boy's room where Tony was wrestling the pillowslip off an uncooperative pillow. Ensuring the boy was in no danger, he hurried back to his place on the couch and picked up his newspaper just as Tony emerged from his room.

"Sure you don't need a hand?" he asked as the boy passed him.

"No, Gibbs I'm helping and you're resting," Tony puffed, breathing heavily and bound for the laundry with a small bundle of pillow slips and towels. "I'll be back soon to check on you. Stay right there on the couch and rest."

"Gotcha, Boss," the man replied.

The growing ache in his injured shoulder prompted Gibbs to take his pain meds but more banging and crashing had him moving quickly to the laundry. Stealthily peeping into the room, he watched as Tony diligently separated the whites from the colours before tossing a load into the washing machine. The former Marine held his breath as the boy tipped his frame precariously and strained to reach the washing powder from a nearby shelf. Exhaling in relief, he shook his head, simultaneously proud and concerned by the boy's independence and dogged determination.

Using three times the necessary amount of washing powder, Tony closed the lid and pressed the start button to set the washing machine in motion before leaning back in his standing frame and closing his eyes. Gibbs noted the pale face and sweat-dampened hair with concern – he wasn't the only one who'd had a rough time and little sleep the night before. He quickly dashed into Tony's room, collected the book from the nightstand and returned to his position on the couch.

"Hey, Sport?" he called. "You done yet?"

Tony appeared a moment later, still trying to get his breathing under control.

"Are you…okay, Gibbs? Do you…need something?" he gasped.

"Thought we might see what happened to Fagan and Oliver," he said. "What do you think?"

"That's a great idea, Gibbs," Tony beamed. "You keep resting and I'll go get the book."

The Gunny held the book up for the boy to see and Tony's green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How'd that book get out here?" he asked accusingly.

Not willing to subject himself to another lecture from his pint-sized minder, Gibbs just shrugged and changed the subject.

"Let's get you outta that frame," he said.

With the use of only one hand, it took quite a bit of effort to free the boy from the standing frame and carry him to the couch. Tony settled against his foster father, listening to the cadence of the man's voice as he began to read the next chapter of the Charles Dickens classic. Beyond exhausted, it didn't take long for the youngster to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

Once again, Gibbs revelled in the feeling of the little boy snuggled beside him; a child who had re-opened a door in his heart that he thought was forever sealed. Placing the book on the coffee stable, the Gunny held the boy close and gave in to the pull of his medication.

The former Marine didn't know what jolted him from his slumber; was it Tony mumbling in his sleep or the washing machine completing its cycle? Although the pain medication dulled his usual state of heightened awareness, his blood ran cold as he sensed the presence of an uninvited guest in his living room.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

A/N Thank you all for your kind words of support and also to those following quietly in the background. SMcG


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter Four**

Without regard to his injured arm, Gibbs pulled the sleeping boy protectively closer as he turned quickly toward the man standing in his living room.

"Take it easy, Son, it's just me," Jackson said quietly.

"Jesus, Dad!" Gibbs hissed.

His head fell back against the couch in relief as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.

"What the hell are ya doing here?" he asked more harshly than he intended.

"Shhhh! You'll wake the boy," Jack whispered.

A quick look found Tony still out like a light and Gibbs gently extracted himself from the tangle of arms and legs and nodded toward the kitchen.

"Wasn't expecting you till next week," he said, emptying the remaining coffee sludge and making a fresh pot.

"Ducky called. He told me you might need an extra pair of hands around here," Jack explained, looking pointedly at his son's arm in a sling. "Seems he was right."

"Was gonna call you tonight," Gibbs told him.

"You were shot, Leroy!" Jackson asked in exasperation. "And I gotta tell ya that I'm getting mighty sick of having to hear about what's going on in this family from Ducky!"

"You're right."

"You're darn straight, I'm right," Jack continued. "So maybe you can explain why it seems like you're happy to accept help from everybody but me?"

"I'm not _happy_ to accept help from anyone, Dad," Gibbs countered. "You know what we're dealing with here. You told me yourself – _'don't be as ass, if you need help, ask for it.'_ That's never been easy for me, Dad…but I'm trying."

Jackson sighed audibly.

"I know, Son," Jackson said sadly. "Guess I was hoping, I'd be the first person you'd call."

"You would be…but you have the store and a life in Stillwater. I can't ask you to give that up."

Before the conversation could continue, Tony's sleepy voice sounded from the living room.

"Gibbs? Gibbs, where are you?"

"Be right there, Sport," Gibbs called and turned back to his father. "Come on. He'll be happy to see you."

With tussled dark, blonde hair sticking up in every direction, Tony was still knuckling the sleep from his eyes as Gibbs entered the living room.

"Where were you?" Tony yawned.

"Just getting a coffee," the Gunny said, holding the wheelchair steady while the boy slipped into it from the couch.

"That makes four coffees today, Gibbs, and it's only two o'clock!"

"You counting my coffees?"

"For your own good. The doctor said you're not supposed to have too much coffee while you're taking your pain meds. Did you forget? It's a good thing I remembered then, right, Gibbs?"

"Yeah, Sport," Gibbs said wryly, "a real good thing. You wanna say hello to our visitor?"

Jack walked into the living room and, for a moment, Gibbs honestly couldn't decide who looked more delighted.

"Grandpa Jack!" Tony exclaimed as the older man wrapped him in a huge hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was already coming down for Thanksgiving," Jack told him. "But I heard you boys could use an extra pair of hands so I came earlier. Is that okay?"

"It's more than okay, it's great! I've been looking after Gibbs since he came home from the hospital but there's lots of things he won't let me do by myself," Tony leaned forward and stage whispered. "You should know that when his arm hurts, he gets a little cranky."

"Thanks for the tip," Jackson whispered in reply. "He's never been a good patient – even when he was your age."

"Hey! I'm standing right here!" Gibbs feigned a protest causing Tony to dissolve into a fit of giggles. "If you two want to go to the park before it gets too cold, you better grab your gear!"

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

With a mixture of joy and sadness, Jackson watched as Tony reached the end of the monkey bars and awkwardly turned for the return trip. Unlike other children, who swing their legs to give them the momentum to travel back and forth, Tony's lower limbs hung limply and he relied totally on the strength of his arms. The boy's young face was flushed from exertion as he made his way back to the start, reassured by the sight of his foster father, walking slowly beside him and uttering words of encouragement.

Tony's progress was slow and his breathing laborious but the grit and determination on the kid's face filled Jackson's heart with a pride so intense he had to swallow the lump in his throat.

"I did it!" Tony gasped, beaming a wide smile in Jackson's direction. "Six times across the monkey bars, Grandpa Jack! That's a new record!"

"Atta boy, Tony," Jackson replied, matching the boy's smile.

Gibbs positioned himself below him and Tony let himself slip safely into his foster father's one-armed embrace.

"Good job, Sport," he softly whispered into Tony's ear before kissing his temple.

The Gunny carried the weary boy over to the Liberty swing, where Jackson was already securing the wheelchair. With an extra hug – just because – Gibbs placed the boy into the chair and set the swing in motion. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, he and Jackson watched as Tony closed his eyes and let his imagination take him to a place where he could run and jump and play, fast and free.

"He's getting strong," Jackson remarked.

"Kid's a machine," Gibbs said with a small grin. "Ziva's been working on his upper body strength. Helps him use his wheelchair…and the monkey bars."

Jack nodded.

"Shame things didn't work out with his dog. He was so excited."

"Haven't given up on that yet, Dad. Ducky's working on it."

With Tony sufficiently rested, the two men detached the wheelchair from the Liberty swing and guided it down the path to their favourite bench by the pond. They enjoyed a small snack while Tony educated Jackson on the finer points of his duck research. Shaking his head ruefully, he still couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Jack's eyes were bright with suppressed laughter as he consoled the boy.

"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing," Jack told him. "You know who said that, Tony?"

Tony screwed up his face and gave the man a quizzical look.

" _You_ just said that, Grandpa Jack," he laughed.

Jackson and Gibbs exchanged a smile.

"That's a quote from Albert Einstein, arguably one of the smartest men the world has ever known," Jack replied. "And you know what else? Albert Einstein suffered from epilepsy."

"Really? Like me?"

"Yep…lots of really smart people over the years had epilepsy, Tony. I bet they wouldn't let a bunch of old ducks stop them from finding something else to research. Never stop being inquisitive about life, young fella, the more questions you ask, the more you learn."

As Jack and Tony continued their conversation, Gibbs stepped away to answer his ringing cell.

"Kate? Everything alright?"

"In case you've forgotten, Gibbs, you're the one who got shot," the agent replied with a smile in her voice. "I'm just calling to see how you're managing."

"Jack's helping out," he assured her.

"Your father's here? That's wonderful!" she gushed. "Will we see him for Thanksgiving?"

Abby and McGee's familiar voices in the background piqued the Gunny's curiosity.

"Where are you?"

"At the office."

"You gotta another case?"

"Just tying up loose ends," Kate replied. "But we have some information about the man who approached Tony at the gym."

"Go on."

"As you know, the sporting complex is for members only," Kate explained. "You have to swipe your card to enter the parking lot and then swipe it again to enter the gym and pool area. During the time Tony and Ziva were there, we were able to match all the cars on the CCTV to their owners as they entered the gym – all except one. One car gained access following closely behind another and the owner of that car never entered the gym."

"You run the plate?"

"We did," Kate paused slightly before continuing. "Gibbs, the car is registered to the Israeli Embassy."

"They were watching Ziva," Gibbs stated.

"We believe so, yes," Kate said. "The embassy stonewalled us so Director Vance placed a call to Mossad," Director David was unavailable but we spoke with his second in charge, Amit Hadar. He said there had been threats made against Director David recently and, in cases like that, it's protocol for the director's family to have heightened security."

"Ziva know about this?"

"Apparently not. She and her father have a…troubled relationship and Director David ordered that Ziva wasn't to be told."

"She in any danger?"

"That's the good news. Apparently Mossad made several arrests yesterday in relation to the threats and Ziva's protection detail has been called off," Kate explained. "In any case, if the guy in the parking lot was a trained Mossad agent, it explains how he avoided the cameras."

"Doesn't explain why he'd break cover to talk with Tony," Gibbs said.

"Maybe it does," Kate replied. "I mean, if he was watching from the car, all he would have seen is Ziva leaving Tony alone and running quickly into the building. Gibbs, he really could have been trying to help."

Gibbs nodded silently; it all made sense. He carded his fingers through his short grey hair, overwhelmed with relief that his worst fears weren't realised. Tony was the sole heir to a considerable fortune and if that knowledge was to fall into the wrong hands, it could prove to be very dangerous.

"Gibbs? Are you there?" Kate asked, drawing the former Marine from his musing.

"Still here," he said. "I appreciate the call, Kate. S'good to know that-"

His sentence was aborted when his father urgently called his name. Gibbs turned to see Tony seizing on the park bench; he immediately pocketed his cell and ran to his side. Jack had placed his sweater under the boy's head and was holding him gently in place.

"How long?" Gibbs asked, cupping the boy's sweaty cheek.

"Just now, not more than ten seconds," Jack replied, his voice calm but his eyes revealing his worry. "He was talking about going to the Smithsonian and he just started seizing."

"Hey, Sport," Gibbs said softly as he knelt beside the boy. "We're right here; not going anywhere…we gotcha."

The boy continued to convulse, his body jerking and his shallow breathing causing his lips and complexion to look grey. Gibbs continued to speak softly to him until the seizing stopped and Tony lay, listless, on the bench.

"Give me a hand to sit him up," Gibbs said.

"Shouldn't we get him home?"

"When he's rested," the former Marine said. "Give him a few minutes."

The two men carefully lifted the child's pliant body and laid him between them with his head resting on his foster father's lap. Gibbs tenderly stroked the boy's sweaty hair, while Jack covered him with his sweater.

"I thought this Ketosis diet was supposed to stop these seizures," Jackson said.

"We're getting' there, Dad."

"I don't mind telling ya, Son, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him like that."

"I know."

They sat quietly for another ten minutes before Tony stirred. He half-opened his eyes before turning away from the brightness of the afternoon sun.

"You doing okay?" Gibbs asked, rubbing a hand along his back.

"My head hurts," Tony mumbled.

"Gonna take you home now, okay?"

Tony nodded and, together, Gibbs and Jack lifted the boy into his wheelchair and pulled the visor of his cap down to keep the sun from his eyes.

"Just close your eyes, Tony, we'll have you home in a few minutes," Jack said.

"I'm sorry, Grandpa Jack," Tony whispered. "I'm sorry I spoiled our time at the park."

Jackson took the boy gently by the chin.

"You listen to me, young fella," he said. "You didn't spoil anything. I got to see you in the Liberty chair and swinging like a monkey on the jungle gym; I got to help you feed those ornery ducks and you told me all about your home-schooling and maybe going to the Smithsonian with Miss Cassie…I reckon I've had a pretty good afternoon, how 'bout you?"

"I guess," Tony said softly.

"Okay then," he said. "Let's get you home and we'll have no more talk about anyone spoiling our day."

As they set off toward home, Gibbs draped his arm around his father's shoulders.

"Thanks, Dad," he whispered.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tony had baulked at Gibbs' suggestion that he have dinner, a warm bath and an early night but eventually settled for an early dinner and a quiet evening on the couch watching one of the movies from his vast collection. The kid was a little quieter than usual but a dose of children's Motrin had eased his headache and the colour had returned to his face.

With Tony safely entrenched on the couch, Jackson and Gibbs were enjoying a coffee on the front porch when Ducky's Morgan hummed to a halt in the driveway. They watched as the ME exited the car and walked down the path toward them.

"Good evening, gentleman," he greeted. "I do hope I'm not intruding."

"Evening, Duck," Gibbs replied, dragging another seat over for the older man. "Getcha a drink?"

"Thank you, Jethro," Ducky replied. "Perhaps some water if it's not too much trouble?"

Gibbs nodded and entered the house, stopping at the living room door to look in on Tony who was totally engrossed in the old black and white movie. Swiping a bottle of cold water from the fridge he returned and handed it to Ducky who nodded his thanks.

"Jackson, here, was just telling me of Anthony's latest seizure. Since I'm already here, I'd be happy to check on the lad."

"He seems fine, Duck," Gibbs replied. "Some seizures take more out of him than others."

"Of course," Ducky agreed. "But, since I'm here…"

He retrieved his medical bag from his car and entered the house.

"Anthony, dear boy!" he said cordially. "How are you feeling?"

"Doctor Duck!" Tony replied. "I didn't know you were here."

"I can be very stealthy when I put my mind to it," Ducky chuckled, taking a seat on the couch beside the youngster. "Tell me, my boy, what cinematic treasure has you so enchanted that not even the rumble of my old Morgan could distract you?"

"I'm watching Angels With Dirty Faces," Tony replied.

"Excellent choice, my boy! One of James Cagney's finest."

"My Mum loved Humphrey Bogart," the boy replied quietly. "When she got sick, I used to climb into her bed and we'd watch all his movies together."

Ducky smiled sadly at the boy and lifted his medical to his lap.

"Jackson tells me you haven't been feeling well this afternoon."

"I'm fine, Doctor Duck, really. I had a headache before but it's gone now."

Ducky frowned as Tony sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pyjamas. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a crisp white handkerchief and handed it to the boy who grinned shyly and blew his nose.

"Did your head hurt before you had the seizure, Anthony?"

"No, Sir, just after."

"Ah yes…I know you've experienced headaches after a seizure before," Ducky said. "But what's say I give you a quick once over so Jethro and your Grandpa Jack can stop worrying about you, hmm?"

Tony reluctantly acquiesced and fifteen minutes later, Ducky rejoined Gibbs and Jackson on the porch.

"How is he?" Jackson asked.

"He's fine," Ducky assured them. "The headache he complained of earlier appears to have eased but his temperature is elevated slightly."

"Been checking on him, Duck. He doesn't have a fever."

"Not a fever, just a slight elevation in his temperature – 99.1 – not too bad at all."

"But?" Gibbs asked.

"Anthony's ketogenic diet depresses his immune system and leaves him susceptible to disease and infections. Although I suspect this may just be an ordinary case of the sniffles, we need to be extra vigilant – children with epilepsy may have worsened seizures during fevers."

Gibbs exchanged a worried look with his father.

"Jethro...Anthony is a child and children get the sniffles. But let me tell you what prompted my visit here tonight." Ducky said. "This morning I spoke with the CEO of a very reputable service dog facility in Arlington. He's a very nice chap and, as it happens, he graduated from Eton three years after me."

"Does he have a dog for Tony?" Jackson asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, Jackson," Ducky replied. "Sadly, he informed me that due to soaring costs, they are relocating their facility to Pennsylvania. However, I managed to arrange an appointment for young Anthony to tour the current facility and to see firsthand what a difference a service dog will make to his life."

"When can they see him?" Gibbs asked.

"Monday morning at 10am. I apologise for the short notice but under the circumstances I-"

"We'll be there," the Gunny interrupted. "Duck, this is...Tony will be…thank you."

"Jethro, it is important to understand that we are still a long way from getting the lad a dog of his own. You need to ensure he understands that!"

"He'll understand."

Ducky handed Gibbs a piece of paper with the name and contact details of the CEO of Arlington Assistance Dogs.

"And now, I really must be off. Jimmy and Breena are celebrating their anniversary tonight and I have a date with an exquisite young lady who has captured my heart...her name is Victoria."

Jack and Gibbs watched quietly until the lights on Ducky's car faded out of sight.

"How do you want to handle this, Son?" Jackson asked. "Should we tell him tonight?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"If Tony's getting sick, we may have to postpone,"

"You're right. The boy's got his heart set on getting a dog of his own. I'd hate to see him disappointed again."

"If he's feeling okay this time tomorrow, we'll tell him then," Gibbs said.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

After spending a quiet Sunday together, Jackson, Gibbs and Tony sat at the dining table enjoying their dinner. The boy had experienced two grand mal seizures in the early hours of the morning and another after lunch but his headache was gone and he had been happy and chatty as he helped his Grandpa Jack build the model P-51 Mustang airplane the older man had bought him.

Gibbs was only mildly concerned that the boy's temperature hadn't dropped below 99 degrees and he was reasonably confident that, as Ducky had suggested, the kid just had a case of the sniffles.

"Gibbs?" Tony said around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. "I have to give my permission note for the Smithsonian to Miss Cassie tomorrow. Can I go, Gibbs, _please_!"

With everything that had happened during the past few days, the Gunny had completely forgotten about Tony's home-school outing.

"What day is it?"

"Today?" Tony looked at the man like he had two heads. "It's Sunday, Gibbs. Did you forget?"

"No knucklehead," Gibbs grinned. "What day is the excursion?"

"Oh. It's Tuesday," Tony told him. " _Please Gibbs_ , Emily and Jarrod and Kayla have all been and they said it's really cool."

"I can't go Tuesday, Sport," Gibbs said. "Gotta see the doc about my arm and meet with Mr Chambers."

"My Dad's solicitor?" Tony asked nervously. "Did I do something wrong, Gibbs?"

"Nope, just got some business, that's all."

The boy's relief was palpable and Gibbs longed for the day that Tony felt totally secure in his place in the Gibbs/DiNozzo home.

"But Miss Cassie can still take me though, right? I'd be really good, Gibbs, I promise."

"I know you will, Sport," Gibbs replied before exhaling loudly. "What about your seizures?"

Tony's head dropped and his eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall.

"Miss Cassie knows what to do," he whispered.

"The boy's right, Son," Jackson said softly. "Much as we want to, we can't wrap him in cotton wool his whole life. You've surrounded this child with the best physio, teacher, and medical team money can buy; every one of them is highly qualified and knows exactly what to do if Tony needs help. Let him go to the Smithsonian…let him be a kid."

Gibbs knew they were right. Cassie Yates was highly qualified and had years of experience dealing with children with epilepsy. In the short time she had been working with Tony, the boy had had several seizures and she had handled each one like the professional she is. Plus, now that they had determined that the man who had approached Tony in the parking lot was not a threat, Gibbs had very little reason not to allow the excited little boy to go on his first trip to the Smithsonian. He felt a stirring in his gut but the pleading green eyes, fringed with long black lashes ate away at the man's resolve.

"Yeah, you can go," he said, watching as the boy's delighted expression lit up the room. "But I wanna hear all about it when you get home."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

With dinner out of the way and the dishes done, Jackson and Tony returned to their construction of the airplane. Gibbs sat quietly in the living room listening to Jack regale Tony with stories of flying his own P51-Mustang in the war. The Gunny smiled as he watched the boy, wide-eyed, open-mouthed and hanging on every word just as he had been when he was a small boy hearing these stories for the first time. He crossed the room to join them and took a seat across from Tony.

"Need to talk to you for a minute," he said.

Tony looked up, immediately worried.

"You didn't change your mind, did you, Gibbs? About the Smithsonian, I mean."

"I gave you my word, Sport," Gibbs said. "I wanna talk to you about something else."

Gibbs exchanged a glance with his father and took a deep breath.

"Ducky and Mr Chambers are working real hard to get you a service dog."

The boy nodded his head but looked a little confused.

"I know that, Gibbs," he said.

"And you understand that it may take a while to get one."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"Okay. While we're waiting, Ducky thought you might like to visit a school where they train service dogs, _just_ to see what it would be like."

For a moment, the former Marine thought the kid's eyes were going to bug out of his head.

"I can really see the service dogs?"

"Just to look though, Sport, we haven't found one for you yet."

"When? When can we go?"

"Got an appointment tomorrow morning," Gibbs said with a grin. "That soon enough?"

"But I have physio with Ziva tomorrow morning, remember Gibbs?"

"I switched Ziva to tomorrow afternoon," the Gunny replied.

"Miss Cassie comes tomorrow afternoon."

"Nope. Cassie's got you all day Tuesday at the Smithsonian. Tomorrow morning, we're looking at service dogs."

The boy threw himself forward, wrapping his skinny arms around the former Marine's neck and hugging him tightly.

"That's the best news _ever!_ Well, not ever, 'cause getting my own dog would be the best news ever but this is really, really great. "Thank you, Gibbs!"

Loosening the scrawny arms, the Gunny settled the kid back into his chair.

"Thank Ducky," Gibbs said ruffling the kid's hair. "Was his idea."

"I will, I'll thank Doctor Duck next time I see him, I promise," Tony said quickly reversing his wheelchair and crashing into the leg of the dining table.

"Easy there, partner," Jackson said. "Where are you going? We're not finished the tail section yet."

"I have to go prepare, Grandpa Jack?" Tony replied over his shoulder. "I have lots of questions to ask tomorrow."

In his haste, he took the corner too quickly and rammed the foot board of his wheelchair into the corner of the wall in the living room.

"It's okay...I'm fine," he called.

Before the men could warn him, the boy backed his chair into the coffee table; knocking a book and Gibbs' reading glasses to the floor and narrowing avoiding running over them. He quickly turned with a grimace and an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, Gibbs," he said before he adjusted his angle, rounded the corner and made his way to his bedroom as fast as his wheelchair could take him.

"I reckon he took that pretty calmly," Jackson chuckled with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tony was almost vibrating in place as they neared the Arlington Service Dogs facility for their appointment with CEO, Tom Morrow. After the initial greeting, Morrow walked Gibbs, Jackson and Tony around the near-empty facility; all the while, fielding multiple questions from the ever-inquisitive boy.

"Once again, I must apologise for the disarray. We usually pride ourselves on running a tight ship but I'm afraid you've not caught us at our best," Morrow explained. "In fact, most of our dogs and our trainers have already made the move to our temporary facility in Pennsylvania."

"Temporary?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm afraid so. We are a charitable organisation that receives very little government subsidy. Sadly, rising costs here in DC have forced us to move elsewhere. We are still looking for a permanent location."

"Did you send all your dogs away, Mr Morrow?" Tony asked.

"Well, Tony, I thought you'd never ask," Morrow smiled. "Why don't we go back to my office and you can meet my friend, Ebony."

Ebony was a black Labrador, thirteen years old with a grey muzzle and face. Her movements were impeded somewhat with age but she still proudly wore her bright blue service dog vest. Now retired from active service her temperament and willingness to please made her a perfect service dog ambassador. As Morrow put the dog through some of the more basic retrieval, carrying and medical based tasks, Tony was completely captivated.

"How does she do that?" he wondered aloud.

"Ebony had two years training, Tony," Morrow replied. "But her training didn't stop there. Once she was placed with her human partner, they became a team and her training continued every day of her working life. Service dogs, like any well-trained domestic animal, rely on positive reinforcement every single time they perform a task correctly."

"She's so clever," Tony said in awe.

"What's involved in partnering a dog with a person?" Gibbs asked.

"That can be a juggling act and it depends on the personality and temperament of both dog and handler," Morrow explained. "Some dogs require more instruction than others and some handlers don't have the patience or tolerance needed. When we have a dog we think may be suitable, our clients come and stay in one of our lodges for two to three weeks so we can work exclusively with them and monitor areas that may require more training. Afterwards, we provide ongoing support and training wherever necessary. Sadly, sometimes after all that training, we find that some dogs just aren't suited for service dog duties."

"I'm guessing that's an expensive exercise," Jackson remarked.

"It certainly is. Service dogs are placed free of charge with people who need them but each of these dogs costs around $27,000 to train. Fortunately, we have an excellent team of experienced trainers and our successes far outweigh our failures."

"What happens to the dogs that can't be placed?" Gibbs asked.

"We remove them from the program. Then, we find them a home with a family in the community. That doesn't happen too often but it does happen."

The conversation was interrupted when the office door swung open widely and another dog trotted in. Wagging its tail, it enthusiastically greeted the visitors, before sitting in front of Tony's wheelchair and rubbing his muzzle against the boy's knee. Delighted by the intruder, Tony obliged the dog by scratching him behind the ears. The dog was a yellow lab, much younger than Ebony, with intelligent brown eyes and a shiny wet nose.

"Oh...er...sorry for the interruption, Tom," a female voice sounded from the doorway. "But you seem to have found my runaway."

All heads turned toward the door where an attractive young woman with long blonde hair and large brown eyes stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding a leash.

"Actually, he found us," Morrow said. "Come in, Ellie. Gentlemen, this is Ellie Bishop, one of our finest trainers."

As he continued with the introductions, Morrow added, "Sadly, Ellie won't be joining us when we move, she'll be sorely missed."

Ellie smiled sadly and turned to Gibbs and Jackson.

"My husband, Jake is an attorney for the NSA. His work is here in Washington and wherever he is, well, that's where I am."

She looked at the boy in the wheelchair.

"I see you've met Bogart," she smiled.

The boy's mouth hung open and he slowly turned wide eyes toward his foster father.

"Bogart," Tony whispered reverently.

Ellie's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

"Nope," Gibbs replied. "Humphrey Bogart is one of Tony's favourite actors."

"Really? Bogie is my favourite actor, too!" Ellie smiled at the boy before launching into a Bogart impression.

"You know what I want to hear," she said. "You played it for her, you can play it for me!"

Eyes glowing with excitement, Tony looked up at the young woman.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine," Tony replied with his own more than passable Bogart impression.

Gibbs, Jackson and Morrow exchanged an amused glance as Ellie and Tony high-fived.

"A kindred spirit!" she exclaimed. "Well, this little "Bogie" slipped this leash the minute my back was turned so, if you'll excuse me, we'll get back to our training."

Clipping the leash onto the dog's collar Ellie called the dog's name and began to move away but was brought to a halt when the dog refused to leave.

"Bogart, come!" she tried again, frowning at the dog's obstinacy.

"As you can see," Morrow said. "Despite undergoing extensive training, sometimes we find a dog that is just not cut out to be a service dog. Bogart excelled in all of his training but has had two unsuccessful placements. We are in the process of releasing him from our program."

The dog became restless; whining softly while nudging and licking at Tony's hands.

"Look, Gibbs," the boy grinned. "He likes me!"

Gibbs smiled back at the boy but noticed the look of concern on the young woman's face.

"There a problem?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Ellie replied. "Excuse me for asking, Agent Gibbs but, by any chance, does Tony have epilepsy?"

Gibbs eyed the woman curiously and nodded his head.

"How'd you know?" he asked.

"Um, this is going to sound strange but I think he's about to have a seizure. Or, rather, Bogart thinks he's about to have a seizure."

"He can sense that?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm pretty sure that's what he's telling us, yes, Sir."

The Gunny kneeled in front of the boy and cupped the side of his face.

"You feeling okay, Sport?" he asked.

"I feel fine, Gibbs," Tony answered. "Honest."

Bogart's whine became more insistent and he began to gently paw at the boy.

"Agent Gibbs, some dogs are naturally able to predict seizures ten to twenty minutes before they occur. Until now, Bogart has never given any indication that he has that ability but, with your permission, I think we should let this play out and see what happens."

Gibbs looked at the boy again; watching as Tony happily scratched the dog behind his ears and patted his golden fur. He nodded his agreement.

Working quickly, Ellie grabbed the afghan and cushions from the nearby couch, spread them on the floor. With his arm in a sling and unable to properly lift the boy, Gibbs stepped aside to allow Jack and Tom Morrow to lift the boy from his wheelchair and place him on the floor among the cushions. Immediately, Bogart followed and lay across the boy's legs.

"That's a response our dogs are taught to perform during and after seizures," Ellie explained. "Their presence provides comfort and reassurance to their handlers but his weight will help to keep Tony's legs still and safe from injury."

"How do you train a dog to predict a seizure?" Gibbs asked, watching the boy closely for any sign.

"I'm afraid we don't," Ellie replied. "We can train them what to do during and after a seizure but we can't train a dog to anticipate a seizure."

"Then how does he know?" Jackson asked.

"I wish I knew," Ellie said. "Two popular theories are that the dog is able to smell minute changes in the person's biochemistry, possibly in their blood chemistry or that they are able to detect fine motor changes imperceptible to human eyes. Regardless of how they do it, this behaviour is a natural one that occurs in some dogs and not others."

Tom Morrow nodded his agreement.

"As Ellie explained, Bogart has never shown this ability before and he has been known to be somewhat unpredictable so this could be a false alarm. In any case it's-"

Morrow's sentence was truncated when Bogart's whining increased in volume and he began to bark a warning. Then, moments later, Gibbs and Jackson watched in amazement as Tony's body stiffened and a full blown seizure began.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter Five**

The muscles in Tony's supine body tightened and relaxed repeatedly and his hands fisted tightly in the throes of a grand mal seizure. Gibbs stood quickly, taking one step toward Tony before Ellie placed her hand on his arm to halt his process.

"Wait," she said. "I know this is hard to watch, Agent Gibbs, but you came here today to see if Tony would benefit from having a service dog. Please, let Bogart work."

The Gunny's anxious gaze fell upon the little boy, still seizing on the floor and he reluctantly nodded his approval.

With Ellie constantly encouraging and praising the dog's every move, Bogart barked and licked Tony's cheek repeatedly, trying to elicit a response from the unconscious boy. When that failed the dog appeared to frantically tunnel under the boy's right shoulder, pushing and nudging until he had enough purchase to roll the child onto his side. Bogart circled Tony several times, ensuring the boy was not in immediate danger before laying with his body right against Tony's in a gesture of comfort until the seizing stopped.

Still unable to evoke a response from the boy, Bogart left the child and quickly moved to Gibbs' side, whining and pawing at the man until he followed the dog back to the boy. With little regard to his wounded arm, Gibbs sat on the floor and moved the child gently until Tony's head rested on his foster father's thigh. Bogart resumed his position beside the boy and barked again when Tony's eyes opened.

As he continued to move toward consciousness, Tony remained still and pliant in the Gunny's arms with Gibbs stroking the sweat-dampened bangs from his pale face.

"I gotcha, Sport, come on back," he said, smiling as the dog whimpered. "Ya hear that? Bogart's here, too. You remember Bogart, right?"

Within another minute or two, Tony started to stir. His eyelids flickered and his frightened and confused eyes began to track. Watching the boy attentively, Bogart moved until he was in the child's line of sight and made his presence known by whining and nudging Tony's arm. It took just a few seconds for recognition and calm to replace the fear and confusion in the boy's green eyes. Tony slowly reached out a shaky hand; touching the dog's soft golden fur as Bogart's tail thumped the ground happily. Moving forward, he licked Tony's face, finally extracting a tiny grin from the kid before the boy closed his eyes and drifted into the postictal stage with Bogart right by his side.

Reaching into her pocket, Ellie withdrew a small liver treat and lavished praise on the dog for a job well done. After covering the boy with the afghan, Gibbs and Ellie joined Jackson and Morrow on the other side of the room.

"If I hadn't seen that with my own two eyes," Jack said. "I don't reckon I'd have believed it."

"Knowing Bogart as I do, Mr Gibbs," Ellie said. "I'm not sure what to make of it myself."

Looking across the room, Gibbs watched the boy sleeping with one skinny arm slung across the dog at his side.

"You said the dog was being released from your program," Gibbs said. "Can we take him? I'll see that you're fully compensated for the training costs."

Morrow sighed from his boot tops.

"Agent Gibbs, please believe me when I say that nothing makes us happier than seeing our dogs successfully partnered and making a difference in the lives of their handlers. What Bogart demonstrated here today is exactly how we hope our dogs will behave when they leave us. But, as I mentioned earlier, Bogart has already had two failed placements. We can't knowingly release this dog to you when he doesn't meet our service dog standards. It would not only be negligent but it could quite possibly put Tony's life in danger."

"What if we take him as a pet?" Jackson asked. "You said yourself that dogs that fail the program are released into the community."

"I did and that's true," Morrow said. "But it's our experience that service dogs work best when they are the only dog in the household. If you were to take Bogart and later Tony was to get a service dog, you could be compromising its effectiveness. I'm sorry, I know it's not the news you were hoping for but we all want what's best for Tony."

Ellie glanced at the dog, watching over the boy protectively.

"They certainly seem to have bonded quickly," she said.

"Too quickly," Gibbs replied, knowing that leaving the dog behind was going to break the boy's heart.

"Agent Gibbs, how frequent are Tony's seizures?" Ellie asked.

"He has daytime and nocturnal seizures – anywhere from five to twenty in a 24 hour period and at least half of them grand mal. He's on the Ketogenic diet and takes twelve different medications a day but the seizures keep coming. I can't keep eyes on him 24/7. A dog would make a huge difference."

Ellie nodded thoughtfully, her large eyes reflecting understanding and empathy as they watched the boy and the dog and then turned to address the others.

"Bogart's prediction of Tony's seizure has me intrigued," she said. "He was trained as a seizure _response_ dog but true seizure _alert_ dogs are very rare – less than fifteen percent of dogs have that natural ability. I think it's worth further investigation to see whether it was a one off or if Bogie really does have the ability to predict seizures."

"Ellie, we don't have time to conduct an assessment of that kind," Morrow said. "This facility is transferring to Pennsylvania in four days and the board has already agreed to release Bogart from the program."

"Release him to me," she suggested. "I'll keep working with him and, with Agent Gibbs' permission, we'll spend some time with Tony and see what happens. Please, Tom?"

Gibbs and Jackson held their breath as Morrow looked at Tony and swiped a hand over his chin in consideration. After what seemed like an eternity, the man spoke again.

"This is a highly unusual situation," he said. "But, if Tony was my child, I'd go to the end of the Earth to find a solution. Okay…I'll agree to leave Bogart with Ellie for additional training and evaluation but I won't sign off on the final placement until I see for myself that the partnership is viable and in the best interests of the boy."

"Understood," Gibbs said extending his hand which Morrow shook firmly. "Thank you."

"I hope it works out," Morrow said. "He seems like a great kid and, as you said, the right service dog would make a huge difference in all of your lives."

Gibbs turned to Ellie and, for a moment, he was lost for words.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"I'm happy to help," the young woman smiled warmly.

For the second time in as many minutes Gibbs extended his hand in gratitude - Ellie accepted it graciously.

"Welcome to Team Tony," he said.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

When Tony had fully recovered from his seizure, Gibbs had explained the agreement with Tom Morrow, desperately trying not to get the boy's hopes up. Despite his best intentions, the boy had almost gone into orbit when he learned that, straight after Thanksgiving, Ellie would start working with him and Bogart to measure the dog's suitability for placement. Although the former Marine emphasized that there were no guarantees, in typical Tony DiNozzo fashion, the kid was already certain that Bogart was going to become a permanent member of the Gibbs/DiNozzo household.

Gibbs had to admit that he loved that about his kid. In his eight years, Tony had experienced more heartbreaks, emotional and physical hurdles than most people had in a lifetime, yet the boy had an unshakable positive attitude. Of course, the downside of that meant that when disappointment came his way, it shook him to the core. Gibbs fervently hoped they were not exposing the boy to further heartbreak.

Tony had bonded instantly with the golden lab and it had been difficult for the child to leave Bogart behind when it was time to go. Ellie eased the heartache a little by taking a photo of the two of them together and forwarding it to Gibbs so Tony could see it whenever he wanted.

Due to Tony's seizure, the appointment at the service dog facility had gone much longer than anticipated and as they guided the boy's wheelchair back to the car, Gibbs checked his watch.

"Give me the keys," he said to his father. "Tony's late for his physio."

"You think I have a death wish?" Jackson asked. "You drive like you're in a NASCAR race. I'm not letting you drive with one arm!"

"That so?" Gibbs asked with mock indignation. "The kid drives his wheelchair faster than you drive this thing."

Tony's hand flew to his mouth, trying to smother a giggle.

"Something funny, DiNozzo?"

"Want me to drive, Gibbs," Tony said, batting his eyes innocently.

"Get in the car, wise guy," the Gunny grinned as the kid dissolved into a fit of giggles.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Tony barely drew breath on the drive home - chatting excitedly about Bogart for the entire trip and only stopping for two brief absence seizures before picking up right where he left off. By the time they were approaching the house, the boy had almost talked himself hoarse and Gibbs twisted around in the front passenger seat.

"You feeling okay, Sport?"

"I'm okay," Tony replied clearing his throat. "I just have a frog in my throat, that's all."

"Too many frogs before lunch will spoil ya appetite, young fella" Jack joked.

"It's not a real frog, Grandpa Jack," Tony laughed. "It's just something that makes my voice sound funny."

"You look kinda flushed," the agent stated placing the back of his fingers against Tony's rosy cheek.

"I sorta wanted to talk to you about that, Gibbs," Tony said, tentatively.

"Something wrong?" Gibbs asked worriedly.

"Well...promise you won't get upset or anything."

"I promise I won't get upset," Gibbs repeated.

"Well…the reason I'm hot is 'cause you got the wrong sweater from my room again," Tony sighed with a rueful shake of his head. "I asked for the green Roberto Cavalli and you brought me the aquamarine Oscar de la Renta which is for much cooler weather. It's okay though Gibbs, you're good at lotsa stuff…just not fashion."

Jackson guffawed from the driver's seat then quickly disguised it as a cough. Ignoring the pointed look from his son, he guided the car into the driveway where Ziva's mini was already parked.

"Ziva's here!" Tony announced unnecessarily from the back. "Wait until I tell her about Bogart!"

"Wait a minute, Sport," Gibbs said. "We talked about this remember? No guarantees."

"But Gibbs-"

"No buts...we still have a long way to go and there's a chance that Bogart won't pass his training."

Tony nodded distractedly as he wrestled to free himself from his seat belt.

"Hey, Sport…you listening to me?"

"I'm listening, Gibbs," the boy replied.

"I don't want you disappointed if we have to look for another dog. You understand?"

"I understand," Tony finally agreed. "And I won't be disappointed."

"You won't?" the Gunny asked in surprise.

"Of course not," Tony said confidently. "Bogie's the smartest dog in the entire world! He'll pass his test and then he'll come and live with us."

Totally exasperated, Gibbs looked at his father who, lost for words, just shrugged his shoulders in reply. Sometimes, there was just no tempering the kid's positive outlook.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

While Jackson threw together a hastily-prepared lunch, Gibbs took Tony to his room to help him change into his sweats and a t-shirt for his physio session. Tony was a slim child but there had been notable weight loss since the commencement of the Ketogenic Diet, which burned fat in the absence of sugar. Gibbs hid a grimace as he glanced at the boy's visible rib cage and made a note to discuss the matter with Doctor McNally and Tony's dietitian, Nikki Jardine.

They returned to the dining room where Ziva and Jackson were enjoying a coffee. The physiotherapist smiled at the boy's infectious grin and oohed and aahed in all the right places as he told her all about the world's smartest Golden Labrador, Bogart.

Although he was only wearing a t-shirt, the kid still appeared flushed and several times during his excited monologue, his voice sounded raspy. When Tony grimaced while taking a drink, Gibbs retrieved the thermometer from the bathroom.

"I don't need that, Gibbs," he said, watching the Gunny's approach. "I'm fine."

The boy sighed as the Gibbs placed the tympanic thermometer in his ear and frowned when it indicated 100.2 degrees.

"That's not so bad, Son," Jackson said. "Like Ducky said, kids get sick."

"But I'm not sick, Grandpa Jack," Tony insisted with an over-bright smile.

"Open up, Sport," Gibbs said. "Let me take a look."

Tony clamped his lips shut for a moment before reluctantly allowing his foster father to look into his mouth. The boy dropped his gaze to the table and waited for the inevitable.

"Looks pretty sore," Gibbs stated, ruffling the blonde head.

Tony shrugged one shoulder.

"Thought we had a deal," Gibbs said.

The boy chewed his bottom lip nervously but remained silent.

"Tony, look at me. Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"

"Because I wanted to see the service dogs and to go to the Smithsonian with Miss Cassie tomorrow," Tony whispered. "And Wednesday's my Mom's birthday and I wanted to take her favourite flowers to the cemetery and then it's Thanksgiving at Doctor Ducky's house with all our friends."

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully.

"Big week," he said. "Thought you'd miss the action if you told me you were sick?"

Tony nodded, quickly swiping at the traitorous tear that ran down his cheek.

"You understand why we have to be careful, right?" Gibbs asked.

Tony dried his face with the bottom of his t-shirt.

"Kate says we have to be extra careful 'cause I'm extra special," he said softly with a blush colouring his cheeks.

Gibbs bit back a grin.

"Kate's a smart lady," he said pausing for a moment before trying a different tact. "You like football, don't ya, Sport?"

Tony's curiosity piqued and he raised his head to look at his foster father.

"I _love_ football, Gibbs!"

"Well, Grandpa Jack and Ziva - all of your friends are part of _your_ football team."

"You are?" Tony said wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"Yep. We run offence to when we take you to a ballgame or to the park or when we're just having fun. And we run defence to keep you healthy and safe. But every good football team needs a good quarterback. You know who that is?"

"You?" Tony guessed.

"Nope…I'm the coach," Gibbs told him before gently prodding the boy's chest with his finger. "You're the quarterback."

"I'm the quarterback?" Tony said with a delighted smile.

"Yep. Every player in the team follows your lead. If you don't talk to your team, if you don't call the plays…you know what happens?"

"We lose the game," Tony replied.

"And the opposition sacks the quarterback," Gibbs said. "You need to talk to us, Sport. Need to tell us how you're feeling and trust us to watch your six. You got that?"

"I got it…I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Gibbs, but I only feel a little bit sick. Honest," the boy said. "Can I still go to the Smithsonian with Miss Cassie tomorrow?"

"We'll see how you're feeling in the morning," Gibbs said nodding his head. "But if your temperature's higher, the quarterback gets benched for a few days. Okay?"

"Okay," Tony said with a shake of his head and a put upon sigh. "But being extra special sure is hard, sometimes!"

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

They were clearing the dishes when Gibbs noticed a message scribbled on a notepad by the phone.

"What's this?" he asked, holding the notepad for the others to see.

Ziva uttered a curse in Hebrew.

"Please forgive me, Gibbs, I completely forgot to give you that message. Your attorney, Alistair Chambers, called earlier. He said that something has come up and he would like to bring your appointment forward to this afternoon at three."

"He say why?"

"He did not," Ziva replied. "Only that he would like to discuss it with you this afternoon and you were to call him back if you could not attend."

Jackson checked his watch.

"If you're gonna make that appointment, Son, we better leave now."

Gibbs had looked worriedly in Tony's direction, not wanting to leave while the boy wasn't feeling well. Tony sensed the man's reluctance.

"Gi-ibbs!" he said, elongating the word into two syllables and rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Do not worry, Gibbs," Ziva assured the man. "As Tony is not feeling well, we will have a light workout today. Then, when you return, we can start treatment on your arm, yes?"

"That's a great idea, Ziva!" Tony enthused before turning to address his foster father. "And if you work really hard, Gibbs, maybe you can play the balloon game or dance with Ziva after your session. And don't worry if you're not very good at first 'cause practice makes perfect, right Ziva?"

"That is right, Tony," Ziva smiled, still seeing the hesitation in the man's eyes. "Go. I will call you if his fever rises."

Nodding his head brusquely, Gibbs approached the boy, brushing his bangs from his face and placing a kiss on his warm forehead.

"You behave," he told his kid with mock sternness, before clipping Tony under the chin and following Jackson out the door.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Uncharacteristically anxious, Gibbs shifted his feet uneasily as he waited with his father in the luxurious reception area of Chambers, Bell and Ramsay.

As a name partner of one of the most reputable law firms in the Tri-State area, Alistair Chambers was an extremely busy man. Since the passing of his client and close friend, Anthony DiNozzo Senior, Chambers had continued his role as legal counsel to DiNozzo Industries and had taken on the additional responsibility of co-trustee to Tony's trust account.

Prompted by his own recent brush with death, Gibbs had phoned Chambers to discuss formalizing his relationship with the boy. He was willing to do whatever it took to legally remove Tony from the system and make him a permanent member of his family. The attorney had agreed to begin the complex legal matter but even Gibbs didn't expect he would hit a snag quite so soon.

Jackson stood by the ceiling to floor windows, admiring the uninterrupted view of the White House. He shook his head and guessed that he would need to work in his small general store for a week to make what Alistair Chambers charged by the hour.

At the sound of an opening door, he turned to see the white-haired, heavily set frame of Alistair Chambers walk from his office and extend his hand in greeting.

"Jethro, Jackson, thanks for coming in," the attorney said gesturing for them to enter his office and take a seat at the large conference table.

"Sounded important," the Gunny stated, feeling his gut tighten. "There a problem with the adoption application?"

"Not at all," the other man said, noting for the first time the atypical anxiousness on the agent's face. "In fact, my preliminary inquiries have been very favourable. As Tony's case manager, Jenny Shepherd has been keeping Judge Harland apprised with the boy's progress and the Judge is very pleased with his medical care and his home schooling. By all accounts, he has adjusted very well in your care...especially given the very difficult circumstances."

Jackson and Gibbs exchanged a relieved glance and watched as the attorney reached for a folder and opened it in front of him.

"We've received a very lucrative offer for the DiNozzo Family Estate," he said.

The attorney removed a piece of paper from the file and slid it across the table so the men could see the offer. Jackson and Gibbs glanced at the offer and the older man whistled softly.

"The home is in a very sought after location. This particular developer would like to demolish it and build a five star resort on the grounds. Have you had the opportunity to discuss this with Tony?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Wanna make sure he's ready."

"Of course," Chambers said. "I wouldn't press but the offer is not open-ended. The developer has given us seven days to accept."

"The boy witnessed his father's death and was critically injured on the grounds of that property," Jackson said defensively. "We can't just wheel him back in there like nothing happened and hope he's ready."

Gibbs placed his hand on his father's forearm to calm him.

"I am not unsympathetic to the situation, Jackson," Chambers told him. "If you recall, Tony's father was one of my closest friends. But as the DiNozzo family attorney and co-trustee of Tony's trust fund, I have a responsibility to consider all genuine offers."

"The kid's got a lot on his plate this week," Gibbs said, "including his mother's birthday. Let me get him through that and I'll have an answer for you next week."

"And if the developer won't agree to extend the deadline?"

"Then we walk away until Tony's ready," the Gunny said.

Chambers nodded his understanding then stood and offered his hand to both men before seeing them to the door of his office.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

The drive from Alistair Chamber's offices was done in a companionable silence with each man deep in thought. Even the short stop at the market for groceries and to the drug store to fill some of Tony's prescriptions was done with a minimum of verbal communication between the two. They were almost home when Jackson broke the silence.

"You've been mighty quiet since we left your Alistair's office…even for you!" he chuckled. "If you're worried about Tony, Ziva would have called if the boy's fever had worsened."

"I know," Gibbs replied.

The older man guided the car into the driveway and parked it beside Ziva's mini. As they gathered the grocery bags from the back seat and walked to the house, Gibbs felt a chill raise the hair at the back of his neck and he was immediately on alert. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Gibbs placed the bag of groceries at his feet while he searched his pocket for his house keys. The agent's blood ran cold and his heart thumped painfully against his sternum when he noted the door ajar and obvious signs of a break in.

"Stay here," he whispered sharply.

"Not a chance," Jack replied.

Gibbs strained to listen for Tony and Ziva's voices or any signs of trouble but the house was silent. He quickly entered through the front door, his strong-willed father at his heels. His trained eyes scanned the living room for any signs of trouble before he made his way to Tony's bedroom and finally to physio room where the sight of Tony's overturned wheelchair brought an audible gasp.

"Tony!" he called, viciously suppressing the feeling of terror rising in him.

"Leroy!" his father called urgently from another room.

Moving quickly to the dining room, he found his father helping Ziva from the floor to a nearby chair. She blinked several times as she struggled to focus and a thin line of blood dribbled from her split and swollen lower lip.

Kneeling in front of the stricken woman, Gibbs took her by the shoulders.

"Ziva, where's Tony?"

The young Israelis dark eyes filled with terror.

"Gibbs…" she whispered. "He took Tony."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

A/N It's so nice to know that people are still reading and enjoying this story and the In Loco Parentis series. I'm so pleased. Thank you all for your very kind reviews, particularly those of you who have reviewed and provided encouragement from the first story. Thank you also to those of you who did not sign in to review and to whom I consequently couldn't reply. I'm very grateful.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

 **Patrem et Filium – Father and Son**

 **Chapter Six**

Gibbs felt his heart constrict as time stood still for a mind-numbing instant. A moment later, a lifetime of training as a Marine sniper and a federal agent brought him to his senses. He took a knee at the young woman's side, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder and grasping her hand tightly with the other. Suppressing the fear coursing through his veins, he addressed the young Israeli.

"Who took him, Ziva?" he asked with surprising calm. "Who took Tony?"

Ziva's left eye was rapidly swelling closed and she shook her head to try to clear the fogginess that had settled in her mind.

"A...a man grabbed me from behind," she replied shakily. "I do not know how this happened. I…I…" Swallowing convulsively, she paled and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. "I…I think I am going to be sick."

"I gotcha," Jackson said as he grasped her elbow and guided her to the bathroom. Waiting outside in the hallway, the older man cringed at the sound of her retching and proceeded to the kitchen for first aid supplies.

With shaking fingers, Gibbs reached for his cell, speed dialling Vance's number and cursing under his breath as the call went to voice mail. Ending the call without leaving a message, he dialled another number, almost sighing in relief as Kate picked up straight away.

"Gibbs, how's the shoulder?" the agent asked breezily.

"I need an amber alert and a team at my house now," he ordered.

"Amber alert? Gibbs?"

The Gunny forced himself to say the words that filled his heart with cold dread.

"Tony's been abducted, Kate," he said, close to his emotional edge. "Some bastard took him!"

A frightened gasp burst from Kate's lips a millisecond before the seasoned agent regained control.

"Time frame?" she asked, already keying the information into her computer.

"About 20 minutes," he replied.

"Suspect? Licence plate? Description of vehicle?"

"All unknown," Gibbs responded flatly.

Kate closed her eyes and fisted both hands tightly at the sparse information she'd been given. If they were to get the boy safely back, they needed as much information as they could get and they needed it now.

The acting lead agent had always considered herself a career woman. She loved her job and she was damn good at it. Although that career focus remained, she had been surprised by the maternal stirrings she'd felt since young Tony DiNozzo had touched their lives. Since the former Marine had taken a leave of absence to care for the boy, Kate had regularly found herself arriving at his home under the guise of discussing a case or needing a signature. But she never left without watching a Cary Grant movie or playing a game of movie trivia with Tony. Despite some major health issues, the child had a courage and zest for life that had completely captured her heart and she would move heaven and earth to get him back.

Kate hesitated a moment, desperate to find the words to comfort her boss yet unwilling to offer false platitudes.

"Gibbs?" she said softly.

"I know, Kate," he replied in a rare vulnerable timbre. "I know."

"We're on our way," she said reaching for her sidearm and badge and ending the call.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Confident that his team would already be liaising with other agencies and putting various wheels in motion, Gibbs leaned heavily against the back of the couch. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed a small sodden cloth on the floor near the coffee table. Crouching beside it, he retrieved the pen from his pocket and drew it nearer for closer inspection. He jerked his head away quickly as the overwhelming remnants of the strong chemical made its presence known.

"Chloroform," he whispered.

Jackson and Ziva returned to the living room and resumed their place on the couch, the young woman looking dishevelled and shaky as she held an icepack to her cheek. Taking the afghan from the back of the couch, Gibbs placed it around her shoulders and took a seat on the coffee table.

"Ziva, listen to me," he said. "I need to know everything that happened from the time we left."

"Leroy, the girl is hurt," Jackson hissed. "Do you have to do this now?"

Ziva grasped the older man's hand.

"Gibbs is right," she told him with a small smile that reopened the split on her lower lip. "Finding Tony must be our main focus."

Holding a glass of water in both hands, she took a small sip and placed the glass on the table.

"Tony was not feeling well so we had decided on a light workout," she begun. "He seemed happy enough but I could tell he was tiring and I did not wish to push him too hard. I went to retrieve the thermometer to check his temperature."

She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply through her nose.

"I was grabbed from behind and a rag was placed over my face. I tried to fight but I could not breathe. There was a…a sickly sweet smell and I began to pass out."

The young woman's eyes flicked to her hands and she cleared the emotion from her voice and continued.

"I fought him as long as I could. Tony was screaming and calling my name but I could not respond. I...I scratched the man's face but he punched me and threw me to the floor. The last thing I remember is watching him place the rag over Tony's face. He tried to struggle but the man was too strong and he lost consciousness. Then he picked Tony up and…and he took him."

"I am so sorry, Gibbs," she said. "You trusted me to take care of Tony and now..."

Moving closer to the distraught woman, Jackson slipped a comforting arm around Ziva's shoulders and handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"This is not your fault. We're gonna find Tony and bring him home, isn't that right, Son?"

Gibbs nodded distractedly before returning his attention back to the physiotherapist.

"Ziva? Did you know this man? Had you ever seen him before?" he asked.

The young woman began to shake her head then frowned as her eyes grew dark with recall. Suddenly, she looked wide-eyed at Gibbs.

"The gym!" she said. "Gibbs! It was the same man who spoke with Tony at the sporting complex."

"You're sure?"

"I am positive," she said, her eyes now shining with a glimmer of hope.

Gibbs sighed wearily and carded his fingers through his silver hair.

"We spoke Amit Hadar."

"My father's second at Mossad?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"The man at the sporting complex was a Mossad agent. There've been threats against your father. He placed you under surveillance until the threats passed. He didn't want you to know."

"My father has spent a lifetime underestimating me," Ziva huffed with no small amount of bitterness.

Gibbs felt an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"You saying you knew you were being followed?" he asked.

"I spotted the tail two weeks ago," she replied. "But Gibbs, the man who took Tony was definitely _not_ Mossad."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Arthur Fisher's fragile mind was in turmoil. Since leaving the halfway house, his every thought had been consumed with avenging the death of his son - inflicting the emotional pain that he had endured. At the top of his list was the arresting officer – NCIS Special Agent, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

The drug-induced fugue, in which he had existed for the past several years, was slowly beginning to lift enabling Fisher to execute his plan. It was a simple plan and by no means a masterstroke. He knew he was leaving a trail and he knew it was a matter of time before the authorities caught up with him. But, by then, Gibbs would have suffered like never before.

Fisher had spent days watching Gibbs and the boy from a distance – watching them riding their bike, laughing and enjoying their time together in the park. The memories it evoked, of time spent with his own son, almost tore his heart from his chest.

As the boy was never left alone, Fisher studied the procession of people arriving and departing from the Gibbs home before determining that the dark-haired, slightly built physiotherapist would provide the least resistance. That decision had almost been his undoing, he thought, gently running his fingers over the torn and abraded skin on his cheek. The woman had fought strongly before finally succumbing to the chloroform.

Driving back to the disused shed he'd found three nights before, he had carried the unconscious child inside and had almost dropped him when the boy's body suddenly stiffened and convulsed for several minutes. When his body finally stilled, his face pale and sweaty, Fisher had checked the boy's breathing, relieved to find a strong and regular pulse.

Moments later, through the murky darkness, Fisher watched as the disoriented boy released a frightened sob and raised his arms to be comforted. The man had baulked for a moment until the parental feeling he thought long dead, rose like a phoenix from the ashes of his broken heart. Anxiously rocking back and forth, Arthur Fisher hugged the listless boy to his chest feeling him grow heavier in his arms as sleep took him.

"It's okay, Aaron," Fisher whispered. "Daddy's here.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

'A hornet's nest,' Jackson thought as he watched the controlled chaos around him. 'Looks like someone kicked a darned hornet's nest.'

As he'd expected, Kate and McGee had been the first agents to arrive at the Gibbs home, offering comfort and reassurance before starting to photograph the scene and dust for prints. Abby and Ducky followed closely behind – the ME treating Ziva's minor injuries while Abby sat with the young Israeli and began work on a composite of the abductor.

From there, the number of agents and police officers grew exponentially as they conducted door to door questioning of neighbours and kept the swarm of media at bay. He turned his head at the raised voices coming from the living room where Kate was currently involved in an animated discussion with Tobias Fornell. The FBI agent was claiming jurisdiction over the kidnapping case and Kate was doggedly refusing to back down.

"This is not any other case, Fornell," he heard her say. "This is Tony and Tony is family."

"All the more reason for you and your team to step back and let us do our job," Fornell said.

As the two senior agents continued their heated discussion, Jackson noted the absence of his son. On a hunch, he made his way into Tony's bedroom and found the former Gunny sitting on the recliner and staring at the photo frame he was holding in his hands.

"Leroy?" Jackson said quietly.

"He hasn't got his meds, Dad," Gibbs said softly. "He's overdue for his anti-convulsants, he'll need his muscle relaxants and his soft splints. He hasn't got his wheelchair or his...his Keto meals."

There weren't too many times that Jackson could recall seeing his son so close to his emotional precipice but this was one of them.

"We'll find him, Son," he said, resting a hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "But if we're gonna do that, we're gonna need you to do what you do best. Go be an agent...go find our boy."

As their eyes met, a myriad of emotions and unspoken words were shared in the silent exchange that provided strength and comfort to them both. With a determined nod of his head, Gibbs placed the photo frame on the bedside table and took a deep breath before climbing to his feet and leaving the room for an update on the investigation.

Alone in the boy's bedroom, Jackson dropped wearily into the recliner his son had just vacated. His eyes fell upon the photo frame Gibbs had been holding and he took a shaky breath. Taken just that morning, the image was of a smiling Tony with one skinny arm slung affectionately around a big golden Labrador named Bogart.

"Bring him home to us," Jackson whispered.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Kate and Fornell were still arguing jurisdiction, the young woman refusing to let the older man get the better of her.

"I'm willing to allow a joint investigation, Fornell, but NCIS has the lead," she argued.

"That's not how it works, Agent Todd, and you know it," Fornell replied. "This is a kidnapping case and it falls under the purview of the FBI!"

"Not today, Tobias," Gibbs told him striding into the living room. "My kid, my case."

"Gibbs, you and your team are too close to this one," Fornell insisted.

"Work with us or leave," Gibbs stated flatly. "Your choice."

The two men stood toe to toe. They both knew Fornell was right. If he took the matter to his superiors, NCIS would be forced to sit this one out while the FBI led the investigation. But after years of friendship, Fornell recognised the look of intent in Gibbs' eyes. Officially or unofficially, nothing was going to stop him taking point on this one and Tobias had no inclination to try.

"Some choice," Fornell muttered, reluctantly. "But we do this together and we do it by the book."

Nodding curtly, Gibbs turned his attention to his team the door burst open and McGee rushed in.

"I got something!" he announced breathlessly. "A neighbour four doors down saw a car parked on the street for several days. She said the car doesn't belong to any of the residents. This could be our guy."

"Did she get a licence plate?" Kate asked.

"Better than that," McGee smiled. "She thought her ex-husband had hired a private investigator to watch her so...she took a photo. We have make, model, colour and licence plate. The car was reported stolen but I've updated the BOLO."

The vibe of the room lifted enormously as the team got its first break.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Arthur Fisher awoke with an agonising pain throbbing at his temples. At first, he believed himself back in his old sparse room at the mental health clinic but his eyes grew wide and his mouth dry when he saw the sleeping child at his side.

"Aaron?" he whispered, scarcely able to find his voice.

The boy turned his head and rubbed his face into the pillow without waking but not before Fisher saw the dark blonde hair and the fair skin – this was not his son.

In a rare moment of lucidity, the events of the past few days came crashing in on him like a runaway freight train. He struggled to his feet, managing to steady himself against the wall. Knowing hyperventilation was but a few moments away he moved to sit on an old wooden chair and desperately fought to keep his brittle mind from losing its tenuous grip on reality.

What the hell had he done? This was not his child. He had taken another man's son - a boy with serious medical issues – and had exposed him to harm.

Attempting to shut out the world, Fisher screwed his eyes tightly closed. Fleeting flashbacks tormented his already beleaguered mind. Feelings of hate and despair, revenge and retribution had assailed him and overwhelmed any and all sense of reason and rationale. His mind's eye projected images of him following, stalking, stealing, breaking and entering and, to his absolute horror, attacking an innocent woman and taking this boy by against his will.

Fisher threw himself to the floor as his stomach violently expelled the meagre contents. His heart was pounding so hard that his vision was greying at the sides; a side-effect from the sudden stoppage of the medication he had taken for several years.

"Gibbs?"

The tiny whisper, frightened and confused, startled Fisher from his musing and he held his breath as the boy's eyes opened. Tony blinked, languidly at first, still feeling the effects from the chloroform and the seizure. As his vision cleared and his memory returned, his expression changed to one of panic. His head swiveled quickly from side to side as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings and the man sitting on the other side of the room.

"Where's Gibbs?" the child asked, his voice raspy and trembling.

"Gibbs isn't here," Fisher told him.

"Where is he?"

"It's okay, son. I'm sure he's looking for you."

The boy's green eyes widened with a terror and he awkwardly pushed his non-compliant body to the far corner of the bed.

"Mister? Are you going to kill me?"

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

"What've we got?" Gibbs asked. "Kate?"

"We lifted several prints from the front door and we're running them through AFIS and the DMV. Whoever this guy is, he's amateur. A professional would have worn gloves and," she said with a nod in Ziva's direction, "would not have left any witnesses."

"Where's McGee?"

"He's continuing the door to door. Hopefully another of your neighbours saw or heard something that will help."

"Abs?" Gibbs asked.

"Ziva and I have just finished a composite of the man who...who took Tony," Abby said, showing Gibbs the image on her iPad. "Do you know him, Gibbs?"

Gibbs scrutinised the image for several long moments before shaking his head.

"We're running it through DMV and NCIC – no hits yet," she told him.

"I also took some tissue samples belonging to Tony's abductor from under Ziva's fingernails. Between those, the fingerprints and Ziva's testimony, this guy's toast, Gibbs."

"Gotta get 'im first, Abs," the former Gunny told her.

Gibbs looked to the couch where Ziva sat looking pale and sporting a nasty bruise under one eye while Ducky tried to coax her to drink a cup of tea.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"She did great with the composite, Gibbs," Abby said. "She, like, wouldn't rest until we had it just right."

"She feels responsible for Tony's abduction," Kate added. "With her national service training she feels she should have been able to better protect him."

"She was taken from behind and chloroformed," Gibbs said. "Wasn't anything she could've done."

"That's what we've been telling her," Kate said raising an eyebrow. "Might help if it came from you."

Gibbs walked across the room and took a seat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"How ya doing?" he asked.

"I am fine, Gibbs," the Israeli replied. "Please do not worry about me."

"I'm afraid that is not entirely correct, Jethro," Ducky added. "This young lady has endured a very frightening situation. Thankfully, her injuries are minor but she does need to rest. I am more than happy to see her to her home."

"Ducky's right," Gibbs said. "There's nothing you can do here. Go home, get some rest."

"If you do not mind, I would rather stay here," Ziva replied, her lower jaw trembling as she fought her emotions. "If it was not for me Tony would-"

"This wasn't your fault," Gibbs insisted. "We've gotta a good description and a tissue sample. You gave us that. We'll find him...we'll bring Tony home."

The tears she'd been refusing to let fall finally broke their banks and cut small trails of misery down her cheeks. Nodding her head she reluctantly got to her feet and Gibbs wrapped her in a hug.

"You will call me when you find him?" she asked.

"Count on it," the Gunny whispered as he released her to Ducky and watched them walk from the living room.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Fisher watched as the small boy desperately pressed himself further into the wall by the bed. Tony's eyes were wide with terror and awash with tears he refused to let fall.

"Kill you?" Fisher repeated. "No! No, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt anyone."

The boy's slim shoulders relaxed slightly but Tony still anxiously stared at the man.

"You hurt Ziva," Tony accused, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "I saw you."

Exasperated, Fisher ran his hands through his hair and began to pace back and forth.

"Yes, yes I did…but that was an accident. I didn't mean to...I didn't mean to hurt her."

Fisher continued to pace, muttering quietly and gesticulating as if he were conversing with someone.

"Please let me go, Mister," Tony said, chewing his lower lip. "I want to go home. Gibbs will be worried about me."

The man's expression changed to anger and he furiously swept his arm across the table knocking a small lamp and several empty pizza boxes and soda cans to the floor. Startled, Tony gasped and drew his arms over his head to protect himself.

"No! This is all Gibbs' fault! He took my son from me and he needs to suffer! I want him to know the pain of having your only child taken from you!"

"He already knows what that's like," Tony whispered.

"What?" Fisher asked.

Tony remained silent, watching the man with fear-filled eyes.

"What did you mean by that?" Fisher asked. "I won't hurt you, boy. Just tell me what you said."

"When Gibbs was a Marine and fighting in the war," Tony started quietly. "A really bad man killed Gibbs wife and his little girl."

Fisher sat heavily into the chair, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"You called him, Gibbs? He's not your father?" Fisher asked.

Tony shook his head.

"Gibbs is my foster father."

Fisher frowned at the revelation.

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

Tony dropped his head and took a deep breath.

"My parents are in heaven," he answered vaguely. "Gibbs is all I have now. Please let me go home, Mister, please."

Springing from the chair, Fisher began to pace again, pulling fistfuls of hair from his head as he walked.

"This has all gone wrong. I just wanted to teach Gibbs a lesson and now they'll find me and they'll take me back. I _can't_ go back there...I won't!"

Fisher felt like his world was once again spinning off its axis and he was helpless to prevent it. Anxiety overwhelmed his and he placed his head in his hands and wept.

"Mister?" Tony said tentatively. "I bet if you take me home, Gibbs will help you. Or...or we could call him. He'll help you just like he helped me when I was scared and all alone."

"No! No! I have to get out of here!" Fisher said, checking the battery in his burner cell and tossing it into his bag. "I'll head north...Aaron always liked it up north. I'll take you with me, just until I get out of town and then I'll let you call Gibbs and he can come and get you. They'll never find me. They'll never be able to take me back to the hospital."

As the man crossed the room toward the boy, Tony's revolve disappeared and he burst into tears.

"No, no! Please, Mister, please don't take me. _Please! I want to go home!"_

"I can't leave you here, boy!" Fisher said, trying to get a grip on the squirming child. "It could be days before someone comes by here and finds you."

"No, no, no!" Tony screamed. "Gibbs! Help me!"

Restraining Tony's small wrists in one hand, Fisher lifted the boy over his shoulder and headed out the door of the shed toward his car.

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Patience was never something the former Marine had in abundance and waiting for a break in the case was agonising. He was pouring his fourth cup of coffee when he heard McGee call his name.

"Boss, Metro PD has a sighting of our stolen car travelling north on the I-95," he said.

"Any sign of Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"They're keeping their distance. They didn't want to spook the driver."

Gibbs headed for the door.

"Let's go," he said. "Get a chopper in the air. I don't wanna lose them."

As Kate, McGee, Gibbs and Fornell headed for their sedan at a run; Abby sidled next to Jack and placed her arms around him.

"They'll get him, Jack," she said. "They'll bring him home."

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

Gibbs cursed loudly as the car in front braked hard for no apparent reason almost causing a rear-ender. He pulled the wheel hard to the right and blasted the horn before continuing to swerve in and out between slow moving vehicles. Riding shotgun, Fornell pulled his seatbelt a little tighter and grimaced at yet another close call.

In the back seat, McGee and Kate continued to monitor the reports from Metro PD, relaying the location of the car and plotting the course of interception.

"Gibbs, MPD's squad car has been spotted," Kate said. "The stolen car has increased speed and is driving erratically."

"Tell 'em to drop back!" Gibbs ordered. "Where's the damn chopper!"

"Chopper's just arrived, Boss," McGee said. "He's sighted the car and is staying with it."

The traffic ahead had slowed to a stop and, cursing, Gibbs pulled the wheel swiftly to the right. With two wheels mounting the shoulder, he stole along the outside of the road ignoring the cacophony of car horns from indignant drivers and gaining precious minutes. The gap between the vehicles and the fast approaching road sign closed fast and Fornell flinched as the passenger side mirror was violently displaced.

"Cut it a little close there, don't ya think?" Fornell said, looking a little green around the gills.

"You wanna get out, Tobias, I'm not stoppin' ya," Gibbs replied, his focus never leaving the road.

A small break in the traffic appeared and he forced his way across three lanes to take the next exit. The air horn of a semi-truck blasted furiously as the driver stamped hard on the brake to avoid a collision. Fornell released sigh of relief at the near miss.

"Boss," McGee said. "Metro Air report the car is not slowing down. DC Highway Patrol is setting up road spikes five miles ahead of the current location."

"Dammit," Gibbs cursed.

The agency sedan surged forward as the traffic thinned and they took the on ramp that would place them on the I-95 N, just minutes behind the stolen car. Gibbs was confident the power of the agency sedan would be sufficient to make up the distance before the other vehicle reached the road spikes and came to a halt. His heart thumped against his sternum, knowing he was so close to getting Tony back. He stamped down on the gas pedal causing the odometer needle to jump violently and ignored the startled yells from his passengers as he eked every ounce of horsepower from the sedan.

After what seemed like hours but was, in fact, merely minutes, the rear lights of the stolen car came into view, veering erratically as it weaved in and out of slower moving traffic

"The road spikes are just around the next bend, Boss," McGee reported.

The stolen car took the sweeping bend, its driver obviously spotting the road spikes too late as he pulled hard on the wheel and slammed on the brakes. The car careened, fish-tailing wildly as the driver battled for control before slamming into a concrete road barrier with a screech of twisting metal and shattering glass.

"Oh my God," Kate exclaimed from the back seat of the car.

The agency vehicle skidded to a halt and Gibbs heaved open the door and ran toward the twisted wreck. The acrid smell of smoke and gasoline burned his nostrils and cranked his fear factor into overdrive.

"Tony!" he shouted.

He was only ten yards away when the gas tank exploded, completely engulfing the car and throwing him roughly to the road surface. He was immediately back on his feet and attempting to run for the vehicle when Fornell and McGee restrained him, each grabbing an arm and hanging on tightly. Never taking his eyes from the burning vehicle, Gibbs struggled violently against their hold.

"Tony's in there!" he yelled, still against them until Kate stood in front of him, blocking his view to the car.

The look of complete devastation on the young woman's face brought him up short and he stilled.

"Gibbs, it's too late," she said, her voice trembling and tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry...Tony's gone."

Wrenching his arms free of the other men's grip, Gibbs looked despairingly at the burning vehicle. He ran shaking fingers through his hair before taking Kate into his arms as she wept openly.

The next fifteen minutes were unbearably difficult as the EMT and fire trucks arrived to douse the flames. Gibbs and Kate both sat in the agency car ignoring all around them, including their ringing cell phones. Devoid of hope, the two sat united in grief for a brave little boy who had brought light into both their worlds.

Viciously suppressing their own sorrow, McGee and Fornell did their best to liaise with the other agencies when the younger man's cell rang. Answering the call, his jaw dropped open and he staggered slightly before regaining his balance. Fornell frowned in concern as the IT Specialist suddenly sprinted for the car.

"Boss! Boss!"

Throwing open the door of the sedan, McGee stood breathlessly for a moment before holding his cell out for Gibbs to see.

"The Director just called," McGee said. "He's got Tony on the other line...Boss, Tony's alive!"

 **NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS**

A/N – Apologies for the huge delay. I have been living la vida loca. More coming just as soon as I can.


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